


All Soulmates Final, No Refunds

by empires, salvadore



Category: Batman (Comics), Batman - All Media Types, Nightwing (Comics), Red Hood and the Outlaws (Comics)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Canon-Typical Violence, Court of Owls, Fake Relationship, Kidnapping, M/M, Minor Canonical Character(s), Soul Bond, Soulmate-Identifying Marks, UST, Undercover as a Couple
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-27
Updated: 2018-11-27
Packaged: 2019-09-01 12:53:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 16
Words: 38,740
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16765549
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/empires/pseuds/empires, https://archiveofourown.org/users/salvadore/pseuds/salvadore
Summary: Mystic Waters Grande Hotel sells itself as a luxury soulmate retreat with all manner of couple’s activities. The cost is high, and all is not as it appears on the hotel’s grounds. Dick and Jason go undercover as newlywed soulmates to find out what’s behind the rash of missing persons. And dig up old feelings in the process.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Part of the 2018 DCU Big Bang!
> 
> Beta work by the fabulous murderousdeer. Thank you for your patience and your wonderful insight.
> 
> Any errors you find came from post-production and lie at the writer's twitchy fingers.

When Jason arrives at the cave, Dick is already half naked in front of a large mirror checking himself out. Jason slows his bike as he pulls into the bay and watches Dick spin slowly under Tim’s direction. Neither immediately acknowledges Jason’s arrival, despite the noise. They continue talking to each other as Tim gets a pinched look on his face. 

Jason hops up the stairs to inspect Dick more closely. 

“It’s not exactly subtle,” Dick is saying as Jason approaches. He turns again slowly and, without his shirt, Jason can see the flex of his shoulders, the tightening in his forearms as his hands curl into fists and then slowly release. 

It’s not typical to see Dick’s nervousness on display; Dick didn’t do things by halves, and since taking the cowl, he’s been a pillar of absolute calm, the picture of steadiness. Recklessness, spontaneity, and the other things that made up Nightwing had gone under lock and key. But here is a hint of the man Jason recognizes shining through. It’s a reassurance Jason hadn’t realized he wanted, but he feels relief, and it makes it easier for Jason to close the last of the distance. 

“It’s a soulmark. We’re not aiming for subtlety,” Tim replies. 

Over Dick’s back spreads intricate wings. They move as he stretches, a testament to Tim’s research over the last few months. 

“It’s looking better than I thought.” Jason meets Dick’s stare in the mirror brows raising in challenge. “Can I touch or am I interrupting preening time?” 

Dick rolls his eyes. But he smiles, and says, “Sure. Just carefully. The skin’s still sensitive.” 

When Dick suggested using wings as their matching soulmarks, Jason had wanted to say no. The idea is a little too on the nose, almost gaudy the way he envisioned them in his head. 

The marks Tim has created adhere to those rules. But the long, white feathers edged in pale red are also beautiful. They aren’t like tattoos, they breathe in the way only soulmarks can. Jason wonders how Tim managed it as he drags his finger along Dick’s back. Dick’s skin is hot to the touch. The feathers spread down and around, the tips just coming around to Dick’s side. Jason can almost imagine them moving of their own accord. 

It’s an amazing forgery, but it’s not like he can tell Tim that. Not when he’s waiting expectantly for such a compliment .

Jason tosses Tim a look. “It almost looks like you know what you’re doing with that thing.”

“Yes,” Tim says. “Booster explained everything.”

“You know why that doesn’t instill any confidence, right,” Jason says, dryly.

“And then Skeet produced the manual,” Tim continues as if Jason hasn’t interrupted him. “The technology from that far in the future can replicate the soulmark’s appearance from beneath the skin. Plus, Zatanna was gracious enough to juice the concentrate used to create the soulmark. You guys will fool any tests they put you through.”

Jason’s thumb drags down the curve of a single feather spanning one of Dick’s ribs. “I guess it’ll do.”

Dick goes so still under the touch that he doesn’t breathe. Then those closed fists release, and Dick reaches out his fingers toward the spot on his ribs, to where Jason’s touch is. Jason pulls away before they brush.

“Are we doing matching marks or complementary marks?” Jason asks, divorcing himself from Dick’s reaction and how easy it had been for a second to touch him. Steering them toward safer topics and the case. 

Complementary marks refers to the phenomena where soulmarks appear as complementary words, pictures, or impressions upon a fated pair’s skin. Jason had always preferred them. But they’re not typically garish. 

“Matching,” Dick says. His ribs move under the feathers in slow, even breaths. 

Jason’s nose wrinkles in distaste. “Two sets of wings. Seems like it’s a little overkill, you know?”

“Like I said,” Tim stresses the syllables. “We’re not going for understated here.”

Jason doesn’t remember much from his time immediately preceding his death, rebirth, or the pit, but he knows what he would’ve wanted. Something intimate, some show of careful concern on the universe’s end that he and his soulmate were a pair. Not this.

High society doesn’t see it that way. Soulmarks are still treated as a status symbol by the most insular and wealthy circles, even if they are an unavoidable display of love and commitment. The bigger the soulmark the better, matching over complementary, images over words. In the time Jason has returned from the grave, augmenting soulmarks is no longer in vogue either. Now, it’s all natural.

“I know. I guess I always thought my soulmark would reflect me and my soulmate, but I get it. We’re not going for subtle.” 

“It’s not like it’s your soulmark,” Tim tosses offhandedly. 

“Jay,” Dick says, ignoring Tim. There’s something soft in his gaze when he asks, “You don’t remember your soulmark?”

“No.” It’s a surprisingly hard question for him to hear. He didn’t know it would be. Jason shoves his hands into the pockets of his jacket to stop himself from making a nervous gesture. 

He refrains from doing something as revealing as bite his lip or drag his thumb across it. But it’s not worth much when he can’t stop himself from asking, “Do you?”

Dick hesitates and then, speaking low and just for Jason, “No. I just remember you were excited about it. I think it was starting to fill in.”

Jason clenches his fist, shoving them deeper into his jacket, fighting the urge to touch the faint marring of the skin beneath his collarbone, the place noted on his autopsy report where a soulmark had started to form. It was hard to remember the shape it had taken. He’d emerged from the waters to find the soulmark was consumed; one of many things that didn’t come back. The pain and revival of the pit had eaten so much of him, his memories, and scars. Overtime, he’d realized it wasn’t worth getting angry about.

The thing with Jason and Dick, the thing that made him think Nightwing and Red Hood could maybe work, is they never talked about the past or the future. It’s always now: what they can do now, what they want now, how it feels now. Jumping into the open air without a net. They certainly wouldn’t have talked about Jason’s childhood enthusiasm for a soulmate. 

But that’s in the past too, he supposes. They haven’t really spoken once since Dick donned the cowl. Jason hadn’t wanted to watch Dick play Batman. And Red Hood has a reputation for not playing nice with the Dark Knight. 

Frankly, his whole involvement with this case is a surprise.

“Hey, don’t worry about it, Dickie. Can’t miss what you never had, right?” Jason shrugs, and hopes Dick lets it go. 

Except Dick’s eyes grow dark for a moment, making Jason look over his words again. He sighs. “Look, I’m sorry. I was talking about me. I didn’t mean.”

“Don’t worry about it,” says Dick, a half smile gracing his lips. “I knew what you meant. Anyway, thank you for showing up, Jay.”

“Well, when the fearless leader calls,” Jason begins.

“You usually send me to voicemail.”

“I come running,” Jason continues.

“Timely is indeed your middle name.”

Jason grins at the quip. “Like I’d turn down the opportunity to see the batcave turned into a tattoo parlor.”

Nightwing and Red Hood were good at this part too. The banter, and the way the distance casually disappears. Jason could almost blink and find himself on a Gotham rooftop, looking down into the white lenses of Nightwing’s domino’s instead of Dick’s bright eyes. 

The space dwindles so naturally, Jason doesn’t see it until Dick raises a hand to smooth back his hair and nearly elbows him in the chest. 

“Sorry,” Dick whispers.

Tim says, “Hey guys?” 

Jason lifts his head to find Tim standing awkwardly by the tattoo chair swiping a sanitizing pad over the leather. “This is going to take a while so I’m ready to get started.”

“Don’t worry. Tim figured out how to keep the melons from exploding after the first twenty or so. He’s practically an expert at this by now.” Laughing, Dick dodges Jason’s swipe. But as he slides away, the calm returns and that warm bubble that had surrounded them breaks. 

Dismissed, Jason moves back to the tattoo set up. Tim really did go all out for this. There’s a tattoo gun on a steel tray. On the adjoining table, there seems to be some kind of experiment going on with multiple ink colors. 

“Are you planning on opening your own shop or something?”

“Just thinking about adopting a new undercover persona. I don’t want to lose this skill, you know?” Tim turns back to Jason, and raises a silver instrument that looks no different than a magician's wand in one hand. In the other, he brandishes a clean razor. 

“I’m ready when you are.”

“What’s the razor for?” Jason asks. 

“Back hair,” Tim replies. 

It’s not entirely clear if Tim is joking, and Dick is back to twisting between the mirrors for a better view of his wings, so Jason can’t check with him..

“Are you sure Kate can’t take this one?” Jason grumbles. His leather jacket hits the nearest chair.

“She did say something about being able to solve this case three times over before you could,” Tim says. His tone is flat but a grin is slowly breaking through. “Sneaking around the facility might be hampered by a broken leg though.” 

“Facility?” Jason raises his head slowly, turning his attention from the button sliding between his fingertips to Dick. “You said we were going to be at a resort.”

The pitch he’d been sold had been very detailed, mainly because Jason cross-examined Dick like a hostile witness. He couldn’t stop himself. It’s not everyday Batman swung out of the darkness to ask for a favor, and he wasn’t going to go in blind just because Dick’s face is behind the cowl. They’re traveling to Souls Forever, an exclusive soulmate retreat, to investigate the owner’s ties to the Court of Owls. The link between it and the court seems tenuous to Jason’s skeptical eyes, but Dick has a hunch and needs to see it through.

The reasons why are clear and understandable, but Dick obsesses over even the furthest whisper of the Court. Jason’s not going to let him go off alone.

“Stop,” Dick replies, wandering back to them. “You know exactly where we’re going. And you.” He presses his finger against Tim’s temple and pushes. “Stop winding him up.”

“I’m not,” Tim repeats it after the steady smirk he receives from Dick and the glare he receives from Jason. “I’m really not. I’m trying to get him to engage. He’s so tense. The soulmark transfer is going to look terrible if he’s curled up like a knot on the chair.”

Jason unclenches his jaw and his fists. “I’m right here. Keeping talking about me like that and I won’t be.”

“See!” Tim waves a hand in Jason’s direction. “This isn’t going to be a hard day in the salt mines. You’re going to a couples retreat at the most celebrated private resort on the coast. Sure, you’ll be in the company of some of the most vapid people on the planet, but the restaurant has three michelin stars!”

“Oh well, if it’s three stars,” Jason begins snidely. 

“Besides,” Tim says. “You two are available. Dick doesn’t have a soulmark, and Jason, you’ve never cared about soulmates before. What’s the problem?”

Jason makes the mistake of looking to Dick. Worry clouds his eyes, maybe pity if he really does remember how young and desperate for a soulmark Jason used to be. Dick looks like he wants to ask Jason that too. Jason glances away.

“There’s no problem.” Jason folds his undershirt over the body armor resting in the seat. The chilly cave air sends prickles down his skin. He leans into the hydraulic chair that happens to be here for this operation, and Jason isn’t sure if it came from storage or Tim simply ordered one. That’s what Batman Inc. is for, he supposes, unlimited funds to cover the financial cost of saving the day. Jason would’ve just stolen another account. 

He settles into the seat and offers Tim a cocky grin he doesn’t quite feel. “Let’s get started, Timbalina.”

“Finally.”

With his face resting against the leather padding, Jason becomes hyper aware of the movements around him. Dick’s bare feet scratching over the smooth floor, the heavy cleansing scent of the sanitizing pads that swipe over his left side. He forces himself to relax. 

After petting him dry, Tim picks up the wand. It hums when turned on, infusing the cave with a milky pink glow.

“This won’t take long,” Tim murmurs.

“You’re not going to shave my back?”

“No. I just had it in case you were like Bruce,” Tim explains.

Jason laughs so hard he inhales the leather scent. It’s loud and possibly infectious, because he spies Dick chuckling out the corner of his eye. “No one is that hairy.”


	2. Chapter 2

The last of the planning takes a few days. Dick fights crime and preps Luke for the double duty of caring for Gotham and keeping an eye on Robin. He sees Tim only during twilight hours, poured over the Bat-computer as he adjusts the aliases, giving them an internet history, and making sure he hasn’t left any fingerprints of phase one when Kate was still supposed to partner with Dick on the operation. 

And then it’s time. Dick arrives at a suite within the Gotham Park Plaza hotel where he finds IDs for Rory Alexander as well as an attache packed with Tom Ford suits and silk shirts. And a wedding band. That stops him for a split second, thinking mildly that it’s actually gold, and that the diamond inset is fairly tasteful—for Rory Alexander-Hunt. Dick tries not to worry about the anxiety bubbling unexpectedly in his stomach and slips the ring on. Then Dick gets dressed for the part. 

He’s standing on the sidewalk, shirt unbuttoned at his throat. It’s not even noon but he has a tumbler with a gold liquid that passes for whiskey in hand. The ice-cubes clink together in the glass as he stirs the contents impatiently, waiting for Jason and the limo. Even knowing the picture he and Jason are meant to be painting, filthy rich and bordering on garish, Dick isn’t expecting a bright white Hum-V style limo to be turning the corner toward him. 

Jason stands in the open sun roof, bottle of champagne open in hand. His hair is a mess of loose curls falling over big fuck-off reflective sunglasses. He smirks something filthy as he salutes Dick with the bottle before tipping it back and taking long pulls from the mouth.

“Rory Alexander!” Jason howls, champagne visibly wetting his lips. “I love you, baby!” He shouts again, easily grabbing the attention of anyone around, before dropping inside the dark leather interior.

Dick doesn’t give the driver time to get out and get to the door. He yanks it open himself, knocking back the remnants of his glass where anyone might see. He tosses it in ahead of him, and it rolls heavily against the other door as Dick slides in beside Jason in the limo.

Jason’s forced cheer doesn’t last past the closing of the door and the raising of the partition. They exchange a quick greeting, and then travel out the city in silence. The towering buildings and teaming Gotham streets turn into merging lanes, and finally the coastal highway, with its picturesque views and the sun reflecting on the water. 

Eventually, Jason breaks the quiet. He slumps into the leather seat near Dick, and from how he starts the conversation Dick can only hope that he already checked the car for bugs. The trust between them is tentative though, and Dick doesn’t think asking if Jason did would go over well. It’d just be an invitation to be compared to Bruce - and it would be a fair one if Dick is honest. 

“So the plan is what?” Jason asks. He slumps and his untucked, open shirt gives Dick a look at a long line of skin. “We show up wasted, and obnoxious and then they’ll just let us waltz into the inner sanctums?” 

He sounds disbelieving, frustrated already. 

“You know Tim spent weeks building these backgrounds -”

“Tim?” Jason snorts. “Sure, Tim did all the work here.”

“He did a lot of coordinating.” Dick takes the champagne from Jason. He should be more surprised that it is actually champagne. Makes his show on the sidewalk look like the work of the boyscout Jason is always calling him. 

Dick sips the champagne and considers the past week, the rapid changes, and how much bringing Jason into the op as Jackson Alexander-Hunt had consumed him. He admits, “Okay, I delegated some items to him.”

“You can’t call it delegating when you had no intention of doing the work to begin with. Not even you can tattoo your own back.”

“Hey, Tim and I worked closely on this one.”

“Now. What about before? With you and Kate. That’s probably why she suddenly found something else to do.”

“Are you implying that I froze Kate out of the details and she decided not to help me?”

“Implying? I thought I was outright saying it? Let me try again.”

“I can’t tell if this is because you’re unhappy with the results or simply wanted to do it yourself. Either way, stop. We have better things to bicker over, if you’re interested that is. It's another hour to the resort, after all.” He meets Jason’s glare with a wink. 

Jason’s gaze runs over his face, slides down and then he turns away. “Fine. Lay it on me, Rory. What else can we bicker about? And why?”

“Get the patterns down. We already know how we get along. We worked on that. But the arguments are good too, even small ones. They lead to Rory’s favorite part of the relationship.”

Jason raises a brow. “Do tell.”

“Making up.” Dick says, blithely, a hand coming to rest on Jason’s thigh. The muscle tenses beneath his palm. That kind of reaction is not entirely unexpected but also suboptimal. Dick considers the conversation he’s been wanting to have with Jason outside of Tim and the Batcave’s prying ears. 

“You know, we've covered everything about our roles except for boundaries."

Jason shifts, and Dick swears there’s more space between them now. “Boundaries? You think Rory and Jack have them?” 

“Rory and Jack might not, but we still do. We’re going to a couple’s retreat that promises intimacy, a fresh start on our journey into our ‘soul’s transcendent bliss.’ Two souls forever, exploring the power of the soul,” Dick rattles off the flowery language from the retreat brochure. “And if we’re there to make a scene….” Dick trails away. His hand hasn’t moved. 

“You just want to be obnoxious.”

Dick takes another sip. “Well, I am so good at it.”

Jason steals the champagne back, but he does little more than sip it too. 

The ride gets quieter, and as Gotham disappears behind them, Dick finds it harder and harder to bring up how to talk about this. 

Tim was right when he said Dick didn’t have a soulmark. He’d been simply stating a fact, nothing to get hung up on, Dick knew. But for some reason it was sitting uncomfortably, replaying in his head as if it was a remark from Bruce that Dick could use and improve upon. 

Dick knew the statistics of finding a soulmate. It wasn’t uncommon for someone his age to not have a mark yet. 

He’d explained it all to Kori once; the weight people put in the appearance of a mark, how it was once a common practice to fake a soulmark. Strengthen marriages of convenience with so-called divine intervention. He had made the whole idea sound like a silly Earth Practice. It probably was to her, in comparison to the way Tamarans loved. 

But maybe the deeper truth had shown through, because reassuring her had become a frequent thing — at the end. She would ask if he was sure he’d didn’t care. And he’d tell her it was hardly divinity or fate. It was all a matter of chance, and Graysons didn’t wait on chances, they took them. 

“Dick,” Jason says. His tone is warning. 

And Dick realizes he’s been making careful, comforting gestures to Jason’s knee as he lost himself in thought. 

“Sorry,” Dick says. But he doesn't pull away. “I was just thinking about soulbonds. Rory and Jack’s.” It’s a small lie, but it’s what he should be thinking about instead of getting hung up on the past. Even if he doesn’t believe, Rory and Jack would. It’s something he and Jason need to talk about. 

“They’re recently married?” Jason asks. 

“Whirlwind romance leading to a quickie wedding.” The wedding band stands out amongst Rory’s other rings, looking almost understated in comparison to the size of his class ring and the glint of swarovski decorating the others. “With the appearance of their soulmarks they wouldn’t have any reason to suspect failure. 

“Besides, finding Jack was like reaching the shore after years at sea. It would be hard to let go of,” Dick says. 

“Is that why your hand is still on my thigh?” Jason asks, flatly.

Dick tries to play it off. Squeezes Jason’s leg and offers a good-natured smile. “It wasn’t a literal statement. This is practice. It would be a good idea to be comfortable with physical affection.”

“Why?”

“Rory and Jack aren’t likely to keep their hands to themselves.”

“So what? Jack and Rory fuck through most of their problems? That’s what we’re going to flash for the public and get wet-eyed about for the therapists?” Jason asks. “That involves a lot more show than tell, Dickie. I mean, how were you expecting to pull it off with Kate?”

And Dick thinks maybe Jason has a point, judging by the space between them on the seat. Jason has a hardy grip on the bottle still, and Dick can guess it’s to hide a tell. 

“You’re right,” Dick says. He leans into Jason’s space. “If we’re going to make this believable, maybe we ought to practice this too.”

Dick’s knee knocks Jason’s as he crawls closer. Jason pulls it back, a reflex, but Dick doesn’t want him to straighten out of his wide spread slouch against the leather. He turns his grip on Jason’s knee, pressing his thumb into Jason’s thigh and sliding it up his inseam as he hold Jason’s leg spread. There’s miles to this limo, but as Dick gets close enough to brush his lips against Jason’s skin, the space seems to narrow to just the air between them. 

Dick kisses Jason’s cheek first, a ghost of a touch to test the waters. When Jason stills, Dick worries that he’s pushed Jason too far, escalated this too quickly, and that they won’t be able to do this if Jason can’t stand his touch, that this is set to fail before they begin. He swings a knee over Jason’s thighs and tugs at his collar.

“Come on, Jack,” he whispers, a devilish smile curving his mouth. “Don’t leave me hanging.”

And just like that, Jason breathes in again. On the exhale Jason wraps his hand around Dick’s on his knee and holds on. He wiggles his hips, sliding deeper into the seat and giving Dick more lap to work with. 

“Tell me what you’re thinking, golden boy,” Jason says. 

Dick licks his lips. “Why don’t I show you?” 

Jason’s chest expands with another deep breath. Dick can’t help letting his gaze slip to the open collar, to Jason’s muscled pecs. He places a hand against Jason’s ribs, feeling some of the muscle there. Dick asks, “Unless you’re not up for it?” 

He was aiming for teasing, but it must come off harsher. Jason’s face turns serious and replies, “You don't even know what you're asking for."

Jason lifts his chin up to kiss Dick, and he catches Dick’s lower lip between them. It’s a soft gesture, and Dick leans into it. A soft sound shakes through his chest, and it surprises him. There’s a comforting touch to his jaw and Dick presses all of himself into the kiss. 

Kissing Jason shouldn’t come this easy. When he presses his fingers just below Dick’s chin, it’s a gentle touch. It’s almost tentative and as Dick licks at Jason’s lips, asking to turn this kiss from chaste into something more, he thinks that while it’s nice it won’t do. He moves Jason’s hand into his hair, curling the fingers around it so Jason can tug on it because that’s what Rory likes. Everything a little faster, a little harder, living for the thrill and the roaring rush of it all.

There’s an ache in Dick’s chest as he prods and shoves. Because Jason tries to stay gentle. His fingers are careful as he pulls Dick closer. And Dick is the one trying to turn it into competition as he grasps at Jason, moves him where he wants. Dick bites down on Jason’s lip for good measure. In response, Jason yanks him back by his hair, finally.

He whispers, “Yeah, like that,” lips barely managing to break away from the aggressive shift in their kiss or the strength of Jason’s hands tugging his head back further exposing the column of his throat for a hard, sucking kiss and a hint of teeth. Dick’s back bows inward, allowing Jason to put him in that position. It feels good, and Dick knows this is supposed to be practice, this is supposed to be Rory and Jackson, but he can’t help rocking his hips against Jason’s. 

When he looks down through his lashes, Jason’s eyes are dark. He looks torn between choices, and Dick doesn’t know how to help.

Dick reaches out, brushes his fingers over Jason’s lower lip and says, softly, “Please.”

There’s the clearing of a throat, and neither Dick nor Jason get to question what he’s asking for. Dick looks up to find the partition has been rolled down. The driver is staring them down from the rearview mirror, and there’s no telling how long the car has been stopped or how long he’s been watching. 

“We’ve arrived.” 

Dick should thank him. He isn’t sure what he was asking of Jason, and he feels saved from having to find out. Dick or Richie or Brucie would spare some gratitude, but not Rory. And the whole runaway roleplay aside, it’s about time Dick starts wearing more than just his clothes. 

As Rory, he sneers at the driver, and the words leave his mouth as quickly as they come to his mind, “We’re just about done here anyway.” 

He leans in and presses a kiss over the indent his teeth made in Jason’s bottom lip. With any luck he’ll worry it all afternoon, chasing the feeling Dick left there until it’s swollen and red. There will be no wondering for the other guests what type of soulbound Rory and Jackson have. 

An employee hastily rushes to get the door to the limo open for them. 

Dick plucks the sunglasses off of Jason’s face with a smirk. “Let’s go, dear.”


	3. Chapter 3

With sweeping views of the Atlantic coast, the Mystic Waters Grande Hotel is every bit as opulent as the online brochure advertised. The main gates open to a perfectly restored Victorian building. Three towers sit atop the mansard roof in bright terracotta red. Delicately carved columns anchor the long veranda that wraps from the front entrance to the terraced decks behind the building. Floral arrangements drip from planters stationed at every window and alongside the heavy wooden doors, breaking up the impressive stone facade. Private docks stand beside an equally private stretch of pristine beach that open to an ocean cove.

The resort’s interior is also impressive with fully restored wood gleaming under honeyed lamplight and tall windows at every angle to bring in natural light and ocean views. The heels of Jason’s shoes echo as he and Dick walk to the main desk hand in hand. There are way worst places to spend a ten day mission.

Too bad the service didn’t quite meet the first impression.

“What do you mean our room isn’t ready?” Dick exaggerates his anger by slapping his hand on the marble counter and tossing his hair. The rings decorating his fingers give a tinkling sound. He flips his phone to the blushing concierge. “The reservation says two o’clock. What time is it now?”

She glances at Jason then down at her computer. “It’s five after two, sir.”

“Exactly.” Dick turns to Jason and sighs, hand waving above his head as if to say, ‘can you believe this?’ And truthfully, Jason can’t. He’s rarely seen Dick in an undercover role. Watching him slide into someone so vocally entitled is blowing his mind. He might get a few jabs in about Dick growing up with the silver spoon, but even he knows Dick didn’t become corrupted by it. Is barely spoiled.

Rory Alexander, however, is. He pushes the sunglasses he stole off Jason into his hair so he can properly glare at the woman.

“I’m sorry, sir. We just received a request to upgrade the room. It will be ready shortly.”

“Good,” Dick says, pulling the sunglasses back down and combing fingers through his hair to settle the strands.

Jason slides a hand under Dick’s jacket. The shirt beneath is still untucked from the last part of the limo ride and he presses into the warm skin. “Room upgrade? Rory, you didn’t?”

“When I saw there were private gardens available, I knew we had to have one. Imagine, making love under the stars.” Dick tilts his head to look over the edge of the sunglass and bats his lashes at Jason, actually flutters them.

“And now the surprise is ruined,” he ends, huffing at the indignity.

“It’s fine. Come on, the staff will sort everything out. We can go to the bar. There’s always time for mimosas.”

“No. Too much day drinking leads to whisky dick.” Dick makes a not at all discrete pat to Jason’s upper thigh. The touch goes straight to Jason’s gut, and he feels an embarrassing flare of arousal from the simple touch and then annoyance from the suggestion.

“Uh, no it doesn’t. You take that back.” It’s more surprised and petulant than Jason ever wants to hear his voice be again.

Dick only pulls a pack of gum from his pocket and selects a fresh stick. He chews obnoxiously in the face of Jason’s apparent shock. “Just kidding, babe.”

“We’re going for a walk before I try and fight for my honor right here, right now. It’s too early for us to get kicked out of another hotel.” And with that, Jason sweeps Dick into his arms and strides to the glass doors opened to wooden veranda. The concierge looks on, stunned.

Dick laughs when his feet hit the ground again. “I think we’re well on our way to establishing a good reputation here.”

“Oh yeah, loud, impatient, and handsy. The best reputation,” Jason mutters.

“Exactly. Makes for the best gossip. Now come on, Jack,” he says, slipping a hand in the crook of Jason’s arm. “Let’s get the lay of the land.”

They spend the next twenty minutes walking down the manicured stone paths winding around the grounds. The grass is a verdant green, thick, and evenly cut. Flower beds spread into garden spaces both wild and cultivated. Other couples scatter about the grounds, sunning on the seaside terrace, eating under the covered porch, strolling along the gardens hand in hand. It’s a lovers paradise, a place for souls to connect, or so the brochure said.

“It’s pretty,” Jason says. “But the security is thin. Cameras aren’t spaced to maximize ground coverage and I don’t see anything that shows the security team is collecting audio.”

Dick hums in agreement. “They’re bound to have a more sophisticated set up inside. The valuable information will come out in the workshop sessions.”

Jason simply makes an affirmative noise. It’s followed by a loud snap as the bubble pops against Dick’s lips. He reaches up and plucks stray strands of the gum from his lips, and Jason, who is just tall enough to glance down, watches, because Dick’s fingers are manicured and his lips soft. Jason’s always thought they might be, always knew it on an instinctive level like he’s always known the air high above Gotham is sweeter and the horizon leads to more. Now he has proof. He’s not sure what to do with this information outside of the mission, especially since Dick is so thoroughly in character.

Inside though, in a shadowed corner of Jason’s subconscious, a boy who never grew older trembles with the knowledge.

The surrounding grounds, with their wandering paths and cultivated gardens, aren’t so large you feel lost, but they retain enough space and privacy that it really seems like Jason and Dick are the only two people around. They could probably slow the relationship charade a bit here, but Dick doesn’t take his lax grip as a hint. Instead he clutches Jason’s hand tighter, drags him from flower bed to romantic tree with increasing ridiculous commentary for each one. Then he pushes on his toes so they’re eye-to-eye and pushes the edge of Jason’s lips with his fingers. 

“We’re on a romantic walk together. Enjoy yourself,” Dick commands.

Jason can’t help rolling his eyes, but he does as Dick is insisting and gives a sardonic smile. A bubble pops just short of Jason’s nose.

“See! He gets it,” a warm voice cries from down the path.

A young couple approaches them from the winding uphill path, shoulders brushing together comfortably.

“Hello?” Dick’s brows rise as if amused to be addressed. He chews his gum obnoxiously, mouth open and smacking.

“Sorry. I’m Allie and this is my wife, Bianca. I was just telling Bi that this place is very romantic.” Allie turns to Bianca, whose mouth is pressed in a straight line. The diplomat in their relationship, Jason thinks. In comparison, Jason feels like he’s playing the stooge.

“But it’s not Tuscany, love, and we could very well be there right now for the amount we put down for a three day package.” Bianca flicks her hand, showing a series of bright blue dots that stand out on her golden skin. They match the marks on the back of Allie’s wrist. “We could be eating pappa al pomodoro we learned to make ourselves, drinking better wine, and with the sunset all to ourselves.”

If Bianca means to keep what she’s saying under her breath, she’s unsuccessful.

“Bi, we both know you hate cooking, so stop bringing up the cooking classes. Besides, having our souls read is much more exciting, don’t you think?” She turns to Jason, who can only blink at her.

“I must have missed that part of the package,” he says, looking to Dick.

“He doesn’t believe in new age practices,” Dick confides. He spreads a possessive hand over Jason’s shoulder. “I’m Rory Alexander-Hunt, and this is Jackson Alexander-Hunt, my husband.”

“Call me Jack,” Jason says, extending a hand.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you,” says Allie.

Dick steps closer. “I thought the soul search was cancelled?”

“Oh no. No, I mean, after that lady had the attack, yeah, they were suspended for almost two months, but Madam Givenchy has returned from her sabbatical.”

“They cleared her in the investigation,” Bianca mutters. She curls her hand around Allie’s elbow. Turning a sharp rebuke into something more tactile. Allie leans into her touch. They don’t look like the sort of couple Jason was expecting to see, driven to the resort by anxiety over an unhappy relationship. In fact, they seem comfortable.

“We lucked out. She’s holding a soul search tomorrow at noon for three day retreaters.”

“Now that sounds exciting,” Dick says, boredom practically dripping from his mouth. Then he smiles. “Let’s go back to the front desk. I have a sudden urge to upgrade our package again.” The bubble gum pops in his mouth. “Ladies.”

“Nice to meet you,” Jason calls as he’s dragged onto the parallel path. “That was kind of rude,” he admonishes loudly.

Dick pushes back his hair and fiddles with his sunglasses until he’s achieved peek douchebaggery. “You shouldn’t be ashamed because you have money,” he replies, blithely.

“You are way too good at this,” Jason mutters, trailing behind.

Turning left on their way back to the main hall, Dick and Jason discover a small alcove. A wide stone bench covered by a tufted cushion stands beneath a shaded pergola. Flowering vines arc over the top and along the walls, leaving a soft scent in the air.

Dick gives an exaggerated look both ways then leaps into the alcove. After a moment, his hand shoots out, quick as a whip, and drags Jason inside.

“Isn’t this perfect,” he breathes. “It practically screams for clandestine meetings, secret lovers,” his voice drops, “or mid-morning trysts.”

“No,” says Jason, because that’s who Jack is in this relationship. An underachieving middle son using his parents connections to land stage gigs and background film roles until he can make it to Broadway. He only became grounded after meeting Rory, whose excessive devotion to all things adrenaline forced his hand. Someone really needs to talk to Tim about developing an alias. Jason spent two days as an understudy for this shit.

Dick settles onto the bench, thighs spread, and he gives Jason a saucy wink. He tugs again and Jason shuffles closer, eyes caught on the way Dick’s fingers trailed down the line of his shirt buttons, plucking each one free. “Oh, come on Jack. It’s quiet, no one else is around. The perfect time to sow our young seeds.”

Even after the end of the limo ride, Jason’s not fooled. He knows Dick means sowing seeds for whomever might listen in later, because this area is clearly rigged to gather information, but Jason imagines others have done so, and he wonders how often that cushion is cleaned. Or replaced.

Sighing, Jason kneels and folds his hands around Dick’s hips. “Honey,” he begins, and Dick wrinkles his nose in silent objection to the pet name. Okay then. “Peaches.”

“Hell no,” Dick mutters.

“Peaches,” Jason repeats, firmly, and it’s worth it to see Dick’s mouth take the shape of a soft pout that he gets when he unexpectedly doesn’t get his way. “You’re acting out again. What’s got you so worried?”

“I’m not worried.” Dick’s voice rises in protest. “I’m not. I’m just. Moira van Kieft. She said her bond is somehow beyond repair after visiting here. I don’t want that to happen to us.”

Actually, her social media rant decried the resort for its 10th century view of hierarchy in determining the value of soulmarks, but who’s here to correct him? Not Jason.

“It won’t. We’re solid, peaches. We’re a perfect match in all the ways that matter.” He slips his hands around and back up under Dick’s shirt. He strokes where he knows the edges of Dick’s tattoo are and imagines he can feel it echo in his own. “I know you can feel it.”

“Are you sure?” Dick asks, voice small.

“Yes. Now come on. I’m sure they’re finished with our room, and I have a promise to fulfill.”

Dick makes a sound that’s one half sigh and one part frustrated moan. He grips Jason’s shoulders holding him in place. “We can still have a little fun here. Come on hot lips. What’s another ten minutes?”

Hot lips. Jason frowns at his new pet name and tries to stem the nervous trickle in his head over its origin.

Because Dick has been deeply engrossed in filling the cowl, Jason has forgotten what it means to work with Dick on any mission. In most cases, Dick takes point and offers guidance with the expectation that his plan should be followed as closely as possible. When he feels comfortable, when he’s with equals, the performance aspect shifts, leaving Jason to see bizarre gamification creeping into a mission. There’s no challenge Dick won’t issue, no bar he won’t raise, no race he wouldn’t run to push himself and others towards something like perfection. The little show Dick started in the limo is proof of that tendency. Understanding the other’s boundaries, he can buy that, but the soft scrape of Dick’s teeth across his lip is definitely Dick’s competitive nature. The fire ignited inside Jason is itching to one up him.

Jason leans forward, tongue sliding over his lips slowly. “The first time I fuck you at this resort is going to be in our bed, peaches, and it’s gonna take more than ten minutes.”

Dick’s eyes widen fractionally.

Someone clears their throat from nearby. When Jason looks up he sees the woman from reception trying not to stare at them. But Dick doesn’t look. He’s staring Jason down, eyes searching Jason’s and he looks like he can’t tear his gaze away.

Dick must see something there because his mouth settles into a wicked grin. “Okay, baby. Let’s go get that room.”

It turns that fire in his stomach into a roaring thing that could take down forests and flatten cities if he let it off it’s leash. It’s a dangerous feeling. He doesn’t want his thoughts to stray to the gauntlet he threw down as Jackson. It would be too easy to slip backward toward those nights, after he came back and something drove him toward Bludhaven. When he was still half mad from the pit, a soulless vessel searching for retribution. Dick had been struggling with the weight of the city. And Jason had felt something. Something fierce and feral. Like the abandoned Robin in him had seen Dick slip, and he’d wanted to take down the whole city for making Dick look that way.

That was so long ago now. He’d changed and still, he hadn’t been enough for Dick. Better to hold onto that knowledge and not slip into the fantasy of having Dick that this charade was allowing him.

“Come along, peaches,” Jason says, taking Dick’s arm. His muscles tense with the effort of making the gesture look natural. He’s worked hard not to think about Dick falling off buildings or how close he came to burning Gotham down. He’s not going to start now.

The hotel employee must be outside of her pay grade, because she’s blushing to her ears as she escorts them to the suite.

* * *

Dick sheds Rory once they’re alone in the rooms. The transformation takes place between one step and the next. The chewing of the gum and the fiddling with the rings on his fingers stop. His shoulders roll back, balance shifting until Jason is staring at Dick Grayson.

He glances at Jason, controlled focus on his face that’s so familiar, Jason almost expects him to bark out the order, ”Report.”

“We don’t have anything on our itinerary until tomorrow morning,” is what Dick says instead. “I’m going to get comfortable.”

Jason joins Dick in taking off his jacket, but where he pulls a hanger from the spacious closet, Dick tosses his onto the tastefully patterned cushions of the suite’s wicker loveseat.

Now there’s something to bicker about. Jason swoops down to collect the jacket.

“I know we’re usually throwing our closes off in a fit of passion, peaches, but can we at least unpack like civilized people?”

Dick shoots him an amused glance, and then turns, fingers tugging at his shirt buttons until it flutters open. He walks just inside Jason’s orbit, filling the space with the heat of his cologne and his body. “You need to live a little, Jack.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.” The finely woven cotton sticks against his waist before falling to his feet, and then Dick’s moving again, taking with him his heat and Jason’s breath. “Be sure to hang up my suit for tomorrow’s dinner. I’m going to explore the minibar.”

He means Jason’s responsible for checking the cabinetry for bugs while he’ll take care of the rest of the room. Jason rolls his head from side to side relieving the tension in his neck. This is all part of the mission, even Dick’s—Jason frowns trying to find the right words for this. Competitive streak comes close. He starts unpacking their expensive clothing and accessories from their equally expensive luggage that’s stamped with excessive logos and embroidering. Sometimes Jason realizes living the Wayne life for even that short of time really affected him, because he hates this young money look.

Jason locates three bugs: two in the closet and one beneath the drawer he selected to hold their underwear and socks. He sets them on the bureau along with the five other’s Dick has already collected. Job completed, he sits heavily on the bed and watches Dick checking for bugs, calling out suggestions that grow increasingly teasing, playful and bordering on euphemistic the longer Dick takes. Jason figures turnabout is fair and all that.

“Did you call down to make sure the phone connects to the desk?”

“How many chargers did you pack, peaches? You only brought your phone and your tablet.”

And, “I spy with my little eye, something that rhymes with derriere.”

Dick glares up at the chandelier hanging over the bed. “You’re taller,” he grumbles, then climbs up when Jason makes no hint of moving from his place amongst the pillows.

The bed shifts under Dick’s feet. It’s overly cushioned, the resort probably advertised it as being “soft as a cloud” or something similar. Jason chuckled, watching Dick try and stand on his toes as the mattress keeps sinking beneath them.

“Need help?” Jason asks. He scoots closer on the bed, until Dick is standing between his thighs. He wraps his hands around Dick’s nearest ankle and leg. More to stop Dick from stepping anywhere delicate than actually being worried about his sense of balance.

Dick shudders at the touch. Jason doesn’t think there are any cameras left on them, except whatever Dick is feeling around for in the chandelier.

Jason runs his hand up the muscle of Dick’s calf, all the way up to his knee. Dick’s thighs are broad, built. Cupping the back of his knee, Jason can feel the stretch in them as Dick lifts up to his maximum height on his toes.

“I’ve got two here,” Dick says, quietly.

He shudders again when Jason carefully, gently squeezes his leg.

Looking at him, Dick eyes are heavy and his voice is soft when he says, “You’re not helping.”

“I’m not stopping you either.”

There’s a second where Dick looks like he wants to say something. Fingers hanging on, and pulling slightly on the round shape of the chandelier’s frame, the light of it shining in such a way that his notorious blue eyes are shamelessly bright, and his lashes look dark and thick against his skin. His jaw tightens and Jason can’t explain why the air of teasing is suddenly different other than — this is wholly Dick. There’s not an ounce of Rory or Richie or even Batman.

“Are we clear?”

Dick pushes his hair back out of his eyes as he looks around the room in case he’s missed a spot. His big, dumb rings catch in his hair. Jason doesn’t want to look away, but he’s feeling hot and bothered.

There’s a deep exhale, then, “Yes.”

“Finally.” Jason lets Dick go, watches Dick climb from the bed. It takes no time for Dick to set up the counter feed. With the room secure, he’s able to speak freely.

“Dick. What are we really doing here?” Jason asks. “I know it’s early, I know that, but, this is where you’re pooling investigative resources?”

Dick leans against the dresser, arms crossed, eyebrow cocked in warning. “Just get it off your chest, Jay.”

“There’s no way the Court is interested in these couples. They’re just insecure people here because something’s missing in their relationship and all the other new age garbage hasn’t worked. Sure, there’s a lot of money on the grounds, but no one who really shapes power in Gotham let alone beyond.”

“Look, you read my notes. You know there’s more than that going on. And it’s a hell of a time to raise these kind of objections,” says Dick.

“Yeah, the stroke victim and Gabby Carter’s disappearance. I’m not saying there isn’t something hinky. But it’s not the court. It’s not their style. And,” Jason shrugs, his heavy shoulders twisting in awkward apology. “I’m not trying to start shit, okay. This is more my initial impressions after being on site and seeing how things are set up.”

“I’ve got a feeling, okay.”

“The famous Grayson intuition, huh?” Jason means it as a light jab, the lightest. It doesn’t go over well. And Jason knows before Dick even turns to look at him that the split second of air, where it was just him and Dick and this case. That’s over. There’s baggage and history, and responsibility, suddenly in the way Dick is holding himself. Jason wonders how he does that, rolls his shoulders back and Jason can practically see the cowl sitting on his head.

He does smile at least. Bruce doesn’t do that.

“Trust me, Jason. We’re partners on this, and I need you to trust me.”

Something in Jason twists at the plea in Dick’s voice, how it wars with a demand. This mission is important to Dick, the outcome a measure on the internal scales they keep inside their head used to balance their actions against justice. Jason can’t forget it, will not. And there’s something Dick shouldn’t forget either. He pushes to the edge of the bed and leans forward, elbows resting on his knees, while he stares into Dick’ eyes.

“Hey. I’m here aren’t I?” Jason says, quietly. He starts to reach out to Dick, a hand extended to reassure Dick with touch, but he stops, parlays the gesture into a push off the bed. He’s not going down that road again, not when he knows how it ends.

“Just remember, Dickie, I’m right here with you.”

If Dick notices Jason’s movements, he doesn’t acknowledge them. He only nods once, sharply. “Good. We’re partners here. That means we stick together at all times, because if the Court of Owls is here, we don’t want to face them alone.”


	4. Chapter 4

Dick wakes up softly, a breath catching on his lips. 

He’d been dreaming. It had been something gentle and hopeful in a way that Dick was familiar with. The devastating sort of dreams that you wake up to find are untrue. Dick stuffs the details down, bottles them up where the edges can become hazy and unclear. 

It’s been a long time since he dreamed about having a soulmate. 

Their room is muted in shades of gray. They hadn’t pulled the black-out curtains closed, and while some light is breaking through, the moon isn’t shining like Dick would’ve expected. There a soft shushing sound against the windows. And Dick realizes why. Rain. 

Beside him on the bed, Jason is curled with his broad back toward Dick. Even in the dim light, there’s the faintest hint of freckles on his skin. Dick watches the way Jason’s body expands and contracts with breathing. It’s even and slow, like he’s deep in REM sleep, but that doesn’t mean anything. So Dick waits a little longer, eyes adjusting to the room as he makes sure Jason isn’t faking. 

Reassured and not wanting to disturb Jason, Dick finally eases out the edge of the bed. He puts on a dark gray track suit, gloves, and soft soled shoes. 

They had agreed to wait a day before exploring the grounds after hours. It had been Dick’s idea. If his hunch was right and the Court was connected, he wanted to play it safe.

But he doesn’t feel tired. He feels restless. Being Rory is easy. It was an act he’s perfected from years of playing Richie Wayne. Tim hadn’t given him much of a challenge in the acting department. He hadn’t had to go undercover for any time like Jason did. 

But for all the ease of putting Rory’s skin on, it was a fit too tight on his skin. Something about Rory was already digging its teeth into Dick. Left his eyes lingering on Jason when he needed to be paying attention to the guests in the garden. Shaking this persona wasn’t as easy as shaking Richie.

But in the quiet of the room, Dick feels like himself, and he needs to maintain this connection to who he is, the mission, why they’re here. The reason is important. He just has to discover what it is.

Despite Jason’s misgivings, Dick is certain the ill-intentions of the resort go deeper than being a rip off, deeper still than cult behavior. He knows better than anyone the heavy hand of the Court of Owls, and he knows there’s proof out there. It’s more than the gut feeling Jason thinks it is. 

Dick opens the window that looks out over their private garden. He’d made a point that they shouldn’t go out alone. But one last glance at Jason, and Dick thinks that he’ll feel better taking this risk on his own. He slips out the window.

Dropping down to the garden, Dick can feel the dew of recently watered grass. Even with a storm oncoming, the resort had run the sprinkler system. He starts scaling the wall. 

In places like these, the high price you pay is for privacy. The security shifts don’t patrol each private garden. Trusting the high walls and the high ticket price to keep out people looking to dig into the organization. What newspaper was going to spend twenty-thousand for an investigative journalist to the resort to stay in a suite? Dick was funding the trip from Wayne money—partly to keep from using offshore accounts to bounce the Batman Inc. check, the whole organization was too public for that. But also because it took old wealth to pay the tab. 

Dick knew how Jason felt about using Bruce’s money. How many rounds had Dick gone with Bruce himself, over wanting to pay his own way? He was surprised Jason hadn’t dug his heels in over the expenses, the clothes, and the opulence Tim had built into their undercover identities. He was glad too, the money had perks. Like not giving Dick a headache when he saw the price on the Tom Ford tags. 

Dick climbs to the main roof and through a skylight into the room he found on the blueprints that is hooked into the main servers. He finds the appropriate service wires running into the attic space and sets up his equipment to monitor the resort’s security feeds. 

Back to the roof, Dick stands between two dormers and breathes in the sea air. He knows Jason thinks that he’s jumping at shadows, and seeing sightings of the Court where there are none. Dick doesn’t begrudge him that disbelief, Jason hasn’t dealt with the Court personally because last time Dick made the bargain himself. 

But this isn’t like with Damian. He’s not doing this alone. Tim is monitoring them, Luke and Cass are on standby. And Dick isn’t keeping it all to himself, not playing Atlas with the whole weight of the Court as his responsibility. He has Jason. 

He was surprised Jason agreed to go undercover with him. Their working relationship has been civil, but even before everything with Batman Inc., Dick had really made their personal relationship difficult. He’s grateful Jason was here. 

Standing in the shadows, staring out at the overcast horizon, Dick can see a light from the beach. It’s roughly 100 feet from the shore, and Dick stares to be sure, and it’s bobbing up and down. Between blinks though the light disappears. It was too real to be imagined, bobbing as it did amidst the storm and the sea mist. 

Interesting, Dick thinks. But the chill is getting to him and Jason isn’t a deep sleeper. He needs to get back if he doesn’t want to get caught. 

Dick descends from the roof, feeling settled again, mask firmly in place.


	5. Chapter 5

“You sure like to drop us into the middle of it, don’t you, Rory?”

“Mmhm,” is the breathless reply.

“Are you even listening?”

“Yes.”

“No you’re not.” Jason shifting his foot slightly. Dick’s the one enjoying himself right now. Why would he listen to Jack’s complaints?

Couples Yoga takes place inside the resort’s seaside atrium, a pretty piece of Victorian architecture built of glass and steel. The floor is packed with fifty couples who mutually agreed to crawl out of their comfortable beds before sunrise and a fortifying cup of coffee.

Dick sighs heavily, suspended above Jason in a supine position. “Just keep me steady here, Jack. I think I almost,” he rocks from side to side, forcing Jason to bear the dead weight settled on his feet, “Oh god. I almost. Ah.”

Jason lies flat on his back with his legs lifted to hold Dick’s limp body in the air. Couples Yoga, he thinks, is fucking ridiculous. He can’t see how this is supposed to make him feel more bonded to Dick. He doesn’t feel unity or a connection beyond where his toes press into Dick’s skin. He doubts anyone else is feeling ‘centered or together’ either. There are several couples who started to lose their breath, and their tempers, once they left shavasana. 

Then there are the side stares from the other participants. The instructor decided to make Rory and Jack the example couple, probably because Dick is limber enough to be leading the exercise. Between the looks, and the soft moans Dick decides not to stifle, Jason only feels awkward.

The instructor’s voice isn’t helping.

“Those who are the arching penumbra of your lover’s moon breathe deeply and extend your arms up, up and over your head. The stable center of your world should take your reaching hands and tug lightly. Together, you bring light to the morning as you take the form of Apollo’s harp. Let your lover’s cries sing!”

As the room fills with sudden joyous cries, Jason growls, “I hate you. I hate you, and I hate this.”

“That’s it. Such wonderful music. Such lovely notes being plucked. ” The instructor continues. From the corner of his eye, Jason sees the instructor’s silk caftan sweep over the floor. Her arms rise like an exuberant conductor. “Yes. Yes. Give in to the magic of the soul!”

“I love this,” Dick moans throatily, the bastard. “Oh god, Jack, a little more. A little more and.” He chokes out a cry that Jason will never forget. It’s imprinted on his brain now, insane filth that it is. 

“Wonderful. Now we rock gently, backwards and forwards. Once. Twice. Three times then gently, gently return your soulmate to their feet while repeating these words: We are complete. We are whole. We are one soul.”

Using the same cadence as the other couples, Jason delivers his own refrain. “My partner can’t compete. My partner is a troll. My partner is an a-hole.”

Jason releases Dick’s sweaty palms and steadily lowers his legs until Dick can stand. Only he doesn’t. Dick leans back on Jason’s feet and he sighs luxuriously while Jason remains curled up like a carjack and feeling twice as cranky. He winces. Not even twenty-four hours in Dick’s company, and he’s already thinking in puns. Must be the soulmate thing.

The thought shouldn’t make his breath catch.

“I swear, I’d been carrying pressure in that spot for three years. The knot is gone. The muscles are relaxed.” Grinning, Dick turns back. “Can you believe it, hot lips?”

Jason clenches his jaw when he smiles, and replies, “Sure can, peaches, especially since I was doing all the work.”

Finally, Dick stands on his own power and pushes Jason’s legs to the ground. He crouches over Jason’s knees, hands extended and a coaxing lilt to his smile. “Now we both know that’s only because you _like_ doing all the work.”

In the right circumstances that might be truer than Jason’s willing to admit. He only manages not to startle when warm hands wrap around his wrists because of the mission and the eyes on them once again. He’s debating whether to stay deadweight or respond to Dick’s touch when his body comes flying up from the floor with a firm yank.

“Hey!“ 

There’s a slight giggle from several points in the room. He just can’t tell how intently they’re watching Jason and Dick or marveling at Dick’s tattoos. He’s thinking the latter. Dick’s thin white tank is more holes than shirt. With the sides cut down to his hip bones and a thin strap just between his shoulder blades, his soulmark is completely visible to the room.

Jason brings his gaze back to Dick’s and.

They’re almost nose to nose. Dick’s eyes are soft and his breath blows softly across Jason’s lips, warm like it had in the limo. Idly, he wonders if they’ll kiss again. Now even.

“Why don’t you take me upstairs and remind me why _I_ like it when you do all the work,” Dick says, and it’s not at all private, judging by the titters passing by. They’ve set out to attract attention and they’re not about to fail.

A few inelegant fingers point at Dick’s back. It’s what they wanted, people unable to look away from the size and scope of their marks, what it must mean. Still, Jason feels something tighten in his gut. He shakes loose from Dick’s grip and settles a hand along Dick’s back trying to work through the feeling so he can put it away. He begins stroking along the feather at Dick’s rib without thought. 

“What if I can’t make it upstairs?” 

That startles a laugh from Dick. “Come on, hot lips. We can finally make good on your promise. Dinner isn’t until seven. Plenty of time to recover from whatever trouble we get into.”

Jason pretends to consider, and then nods. “Alright, you’ve convinced me. Let’s go.”

They gather their things and exit the atrium. Jason squeezes back reflexively when Dick takes his hand. 

It’s easy to be here with Dick. To walk across the reception and have him wrap a hand around his bicep, leaning up to breathe a kiss across Jason’s cheek as he whispers, “Your six,” and he can feel the heat with Dick so close. “Looks like news is spreading fast.” 

There are couples standing at check-in, tittering behind their hands as they watch Dick and Jason cross the room. The staring doesn’t end. And Jason knows that’s part of the act, why Dick threw a very public fit about their room. Why he keeps making a show of their relationship. Like when they reach the elevators, and Dick pulls their clasped hands around his waist. It puts Jason’s hand on his bare skin. It’s a public declaration. 

But that something in Jason that’s been clawing at his insides since they got there wants more than the veneer. His fingers are just out of reach of the feather he knows is tattooed there. Jason wants to touch it, run his nail across it to see if Dick will shiver. But he doesn’t want it to be for an audience. 

The thought fills him with nervous tension. He’s supposed to be Jackson. Not Jason. And he can touch, but he has to remember there’s an agenda in place. Feelings of possessiveness are worthless. Desire is meaningless. Keeping Dick isn’t on the table. Dick made that clear when he cut contact and became Batman. 

Dick squeezes Jason’s hand to get his attention. Dick has tipped his head up to look at at Jason, and it’s probably all Rory the way he’s smiling. But it’s the right side of lovesick that they want the other guests to think Rory and Jackson are feeling. It’s impossible for Jason not to imagine kissing him. He leans down, and his lips brush Dick’s hair, almost kissing his temple when the elevator doors open. 

There’s an older couple standing inside. One leans into the other and whispers. The other lifts their hand to cover their mouth, but it doesn’t hide the surprise at what was said. More eyes, more acting. 

Jason doesn’t realize he’s pulling away until Dick slings an arm around him, thumb tucking itself in the waistband of Jason’s sweatpants. 

When they untangle after the elevator, where Dick leaned against him, kissing Jason’s shoulder, and enter their rooms, Dick’s still teasing, still winking. And it’s a lot. How much of Richard Grayson shines through in private that is still flirty? 

“Bunch of gossips, these folks,” Jason grouses. He peels his sweaty shirt over his head. Hears Dick laugh from nearby. “By the time we get to the dinner, everyone will be talking about Rory’s orgasmic groans.” 

“Orgasmic, really? I wasn’t that bad.” 

Jason chooses to throw his sweat soaked clothes at him. Dick laughs loudly, swatting them out of the air. 

“Tantric, sex-filled. You really missed an opportunity to go into acting, dear.” 

Dick shucks his sweats, leaves them lying on the carpet as he steps out of them and heads toward the bathroom. Jason follows behind him, kicking the pants out the way, he doesn’t want to trip on them later just because Dick was too lazy to put them away properly. But he’s not going to start cleaning up after him either. 

“Do we need to do anything to prep for this mixer?” Jason asks.

“You talked a big game at yoga,” Dick replies. “I could give you a hickey, really sell the idea that we had sex, if that’s what your asking.” 

Dick winks at him, and Jason can feel the proverbial water rising. The more they flirt in private, the more he falls wholly into this charade. It’s so close to the path he’d thought they were on months ago when he and Dick started to learn about each other, to trust one another. He doesn’t know how he’s going to live after, when it’s not just make-believe in a high-end resort. When the subterfuge has to be exchanged for masks. Dick is Batman now. But Jason can’t keep watching him and imagining how easy it would be to close all this distance. To pitch Dick back on the bathroom counter, smiling at each other as they kiss. 

He hasn’t wanted for domesticity, ever, especially since crawling his way out of the grave. It’s unfair to want it now.

Jason watches Dick stripping with the door open. He’s talking about the missing people, how they’re on a short timeline before Dick has to reappear as Batman and before their identity work needs more concrete lives like jobs and pay-stubs to survive scrutiny.

“I know you don’t like all the attention,” Dick says, seriously. “But if we don’t have the time to look, getting them to come to us is really our only option.”

Jason knows all that. It was part of the plan. Part of Tim’s whole orientation while he had Jason under Booster Gold’s tattoo pen. Dick is naked and testing the shower temperature, and Jason knows that the door has only stayed open because he wedged himself in the frame, asked questions and made it easier to talk to each other like this than yell through the door. 

Dick performs Rory’s tell, fingers combing through his hair, like it’s becoming natural. And those big rings catch in the strands, making him curse. Dick walks back to the counter, removing the gaudy jewelry. And in the moment, watching Dick twist the shiny class ring from his middle finger, lips pinched as metal hits countertop, Jason feels a pang in his heart. For a second, he could see this all playing out back in Gotham, in a safe house or maybe even Dick’s penthouse. Without a case, without pretense. More idle daydreams that tanalized him months ago.

Jason surprises them both when he swaggers all the way in and comes up right behind Dick. They make eye contact through the mirror, as Jason leans over him. He curls a hand around Dick’s waist, and his lips brush the golden lines of Dick’s throat when he speaks.

“Hold still.”


	6. Chapter 6

Dick fled their hotel room wrapped in one of the complimentary robes, and little else.

Standing on the shore, the wind rolling off the waves, Dick knew immediately that he should’ve had more forethought. He should’ve considered the weather, the case, the possibility of having to fight while naked under the robe. But he hadn’t. At least the breeze cools his flushed cheeks. Hopefully his heart will stop racing.

Jason had been so warm against his bare skin. And it was like something out of before. When he and Jason had been flirting toward the edge of something Dick wanted. Something he was terrified of.

But then he had to become Batman. And that responsibility squashed the heartache, and need to run away he’d been toying with for weeks. It also meant throwing everything into protecting Gotham. Worrying about Jason meant being concerned about his operations. Not how warm his hands might be wrapped around Dick’s waist.

In the bathroom, Jason had spun Dick around, pinning him to the counter. The intensity of the look in his eyes as he’d leaned in close to Dick. Breath hot and heart rate racing under Dick’s fingers that he’d reflexively rested on Jason’s chest.

“Weren’t you going to give me a hickey?” Jason had asked.

Finding himself lifted up and seated on the bathroom counter, legs spread wide for Jason to rest between his thighs; it was everything Dick had tried not to want for a year. He’d been down this route with how many exes? Hot and passionate at the start? Banter on the rooftops while they waited for their mark. Ignoring the precipice they were standing on.

But then they’d come here. And it was different. At every turn Jason was more gentle with him than Dick would have guessed.

Dick crosses his arms against the cold. The air is thick with the salt of the water. Jason had asked him for that hickey, and it had been like in the limo. Dick had caught himself hormonal and desperate, fingers aiming for the buttons on Jason’s jeans before he knew it. Scraping his teeth across the curve of Jason’s neck.

Jason had grasped him by the hair, breath harsh and cock near and heavy, Dick was so close to it. And Jason had moved his head, whispered something that Dick could only feel. Then, carefully he’d kissed his way down Dick’s neck, and down to gently suck a heart-shaped bruise on Dick’s chest.

Dick rested his fingers over it, as if he could feel the heat of it through the robe.

He turns, pursuing a path along the beach that leads toward a pier and the ascending staircase to the gardens. It’s a longer path to walk, and he’s unlikely to go unnoticed. Small saving graces in the form of playing someone without shame and therefore not having to worry.

The wind bites at his cheek, and the he can see the lamps along the dock swaying in the breeze, and the gray blue of clouds rolling in with a small downpour. Dick keeps walking, aiming toward where he saw the light last night. The wood of the dock is washed in faint coats to look intentionally weathered. As if maybe the wood and the beach have withstood the test of time.

The resort has done a really detailed job of selling eternity to desperate people.

Hard to imagine the crime scene tape stretched across the railings. Dick presses his fingers into the wood, and pairs what he’s seeing with the crime-scene photos. The cops had suggested the resort put up signs warning about undertow. About the small whirlpools that could drag a swimmer into the grotto. But large metal signs would have been too pedestrian for management, Dick suspects. The resort had worked around it by putting up small, shiny plaque on embossed copper to keep the seaside quaintness while warning swimmers.

Everything quietly made smaller or, like the missing girl, swept away. Nothing to tarnish the million dollar experience. Dick knows Jason is skeptical of the Court’s involvement, but he knows there’s something more to this than hightide.

There’s a light from afar and Dick can’t remember if it’s the Lighthouse along the bay or a small boat on patrol. But he thinks if he blinks, it might disappear like last night.

He almost misses the sound of footsteps creaking behind him on the wood.

“What is it with you and running off without me?” Jason asks.

And Dick drops his hand from where he’s kept it pressed over his hickey.

“Sorry, I just wanted to take a look down here.”

Jason curls a hand around the railing inches from Dick’s own. And Dick can feel all of that space. He knows if he leaned back he would be close enough to feel Jason’s heat. That instinctively, Jason would wrap an arm around his waist. And not because they’re out in the open and he’s supposed to be Jackson. But because Jason would want to.

“I think the police might have missed something. It wasn’t a thorough search to begin with.” Dick trusts the weather and the waves are loud enough to drown his voice out if there are any bugs out here. He suspects there are at least cameras on them.

Dick tries not to look at Jason.

“It’s almost dark out, you aren’t going to see much. And we should get ready for our at appearance at dinner. See how well we’ve gotten people talking about the happy couple.”

In another time, if Dick hadn’t run away on any of those stolen moments they’ve shared, Dick could turn in Jason’s arms. He would brush his fingers through Jason’s hair and kiss him.

Dick leans forward against the railing, looking into the oncoming storm and says, “You’re right. It would be better to come back in the morning.”

“Together though.”

Dick turns, looks over his shoulder at Jason. The veneer of Jackson is almost washed from his face. It’s all Jason looking back at him. Carefully taking Dick’s face in and visibly trying to work him out. Not too long ago he wouldn’t have tired at all. Let alone allowed Dick to see him puzzling out Dick’s motives. He wants to tell Jason he’s not sure, outside of the case, of what he’s doing either. He can still feel the burn along his ribs where Jason keeps reaching out and running his fingers. He aches for touch suddenly.

“Yeah, sure. Together,” Dick loops his arm into Jason’s. “I need to hit our room. I never made it into the shower, and I’m entirely too windswept.”

Jason eyes him for a moment, brow furrowed, and Dick can’t be sure what Jason’s thinking. The intensity leaves when Jason’s face smooths into a crooked grin, a little too soft for Jason. It must be Jason falling into his role with the easy affection and devotion in his eyes.

Jack leads them up the path to their rooms say, “I don’t know about that, Rory. You look just right to me.”

* * *

“You’ve made quite the impression, you know?” A woman says at dinner. “The chakra alignment class couldn’t achieve quiet meditation because they were talking about you.”

“Oh really?” Dick asks. He tosses his head as if the idea amuses him. If she hadn’t clinked her weighty engagement ring against her wine glass, making a resonant attention seeking sound, Dick might not have tuned back in.

He’s been distracted since the amuse-bouche. Wine had been brought to the table to compliment the chef’s talents. But Jason had re-appeared at that moment, bearing a martini for Rory. Their fingers had brushed, and for such a small touch, Dick had felt it for moments after. Like a whisper.

Dick had arrived first, alone, so he hadn’t been prepared to look up and see Jason in the cut of his tux. It was all black and satin, and distracting. The dark bruising in the shape of his own lips, peeking over the collar of Jason’s pressed dress shirt certainly doesn’t help.

Dick twists the toothpick with olives in his martini, forces his attention on the conversation. Carefully, he doesn’t let his gaze stray to where Jason has been holding up the open bar.

“Impression is putting it lightly,” Holly replies. She’s a hedge-fund manager, and she’d taken a liking to Rory after his performance at yoga that morning. She’d rung up to the room, demanding he join her for another yoga class before dinner.

Dick had leapt at a reason to escape the room for the afternoon. They hadn’t planned to attend another event that day anway, and staying in confined space with Jason felt like dancing with disaster. Every time he’d caught Jason’s gaze, he’d felt the tension.

Dick didn’t feel great about having run away twice in one evening.

“I was lucky enough to steal time with you before everyone had heard,” Holly says. She’s sly about it. Her manicured nails dance across his arm as she leans in, and it’s possessive. Declaring that she is in Rory’s circle, and they’re not. It’s the right type of bold that, in a world where Rory was real, Dick could see them being friends. They’d get Bloody Mary’s on mornings when she didn’t have to go into the office.

Light shimmers on her tennis bracelet, and between the large diamond inset of her wedding ring, and her made to measure day-wear, Holly is exemplary of the upper echelon of wealth that picks up the longer packages at the resort.

“Yes,” the first woman says. “Your dance card is going to be quite full. Everyone is going to want to spend time with you.”

“We only arrived yesterday,” Dick says, feigning innocence. He contradicts it with a flashed smile around the toothpick, dragging loose the olives at the same time. And what a day it has been.

“I know isn’t it amazing what a little soulmark can do? And yours are rumored to be quite unique.” Dick doesn’t think he’s imaging the jealousy in her voice.

“Rumors? People have been outright describing them since couple’s yoga, Marilyn!” Holly exclaims.

“Anyone could’ve seen them if they tried. It’s not like we hid them,” Dick says.

“Well some of us had more serious activities scheduled,” Marilyn says to Holly. To Dick, “I hear they’re feathers! Wings!”

“I can’t think of the last time those have been recorded.”

Holly’s soulmate, Corbin, nods, a wistful look in his eye. "Imagine if you were both angels in a past life. I mean, darling really, it's entirely possible! I myself saw the fall of Alexandria with my soulmate. It was a phenomenal experience."

Dick turns towards him. “You’ve attended the retreat before?”

“Of course.” Corbin gives Holly a fond smile. “Hols and I met at the other retreat. You know, the ones for people who aren’t quite sure of ones they’re with.”

“I had a terrible time of it, finding my real soulmate.” Holly confessed. She carefully rolls back the sleeve of her designer gown to reveal a generic soulmark. It’s a non-denominational knot, like something a college kid gets as soon as they legally can. “I mean, really darling, the colors are so beautiful, but with all the people there are in the world, well. I thought it must be a complementary match and spent so much time with the wrong ones. Then I heard about the Soul Finder retreat. I was at the end of my rope thinking I’d never find my soulmate, but they did it. They can really help you see if the person you’re with is truly your soulmate now, in the future, or through all of time. And if they’re not, the retreat can find them for you. I mean, look at us.” She turns to her soulmate, who rolls tugs at the collar of his tuxedo revealing a very similar mark on his neck.

“We come to the Souls Forever retreat every year to celebrate the day we found one another,” Corbin says.

“And to learn more about our bond. It really is so wonderful to be in a place designed to help you tap into the magic of the soul,” says Holly. “Corbin and I are more in touch with one another every time we leave.”

Corbin leans in, eyes sparkling. “I shouldn’t say anything, but just the other day, I suddenly _knew_ that Hols had left her silk pashmina behind at the Woman’s Charity Network event in Metropolis last week, so I sent one to the hotel for her return flight. I mean really, how can you deny that connection?” 

They exchange a meaningful glance, which other members of the table receive with varying levels of tolerance. 

__“The soul readings and the past lives. It’s all very exciting, and my Sabine has been selected to have her past life explored this week,” says Marilyn. “I was so worried when the counselor’s told us that there was a block in our bond. But I think we’ll finally have our breakthrough, you know?”_ _

__“Oh, how wonderful,” says Holly._ _

“Truly,” agrees Corbin. He lowers his voice when he speaks next, as if it’s not a topic for polite company. “I’d hate for you and Sabine to have the same trouble as that boy, Dillion. I heard he went broke trying to make a breakthrough with his partner! Poor dear fired for bankruptcy. No one has heard from him since.” 

“Corbin!” Holly hisses. “Darling, there’s no need to dredge up that mess.” 

“Certainly not when we have the Alexander-Hunts to keep us company!” Marilyn agrees. “Let me tell you about my past life when I helped bring in Elizabeth Báthory. What a scandal!” 

__Jason returns to the table as the couples start to recall past lives, each more extravagant than the next. Wait staff begin sweeping the tables, clearing the current plates and glasses as the next course begins. Jason pulls out his chair and moves it closer to Dick’s so when he sits down he can drape an arm across Dick’s shoulders. Dick leans into the warm heat of his body because that’s what Rory would do. He reaches up and holds Jason’s hand as well because Rory would. It puts Rory’s wedding band in perfect view._ _

__“I’m sure we’ll find out how amazing our past lives are,” Dick says. “But there’s something so transcendent about having found each other now. It was a wild morning on a beach in Ibiza when our wings started forming across our backs. We were so soaked with sea water, and sun, weren’t we dear?”_ _

__Jason lifts Dick’s hand to his lips and kisses the skin beneath his wedding band. “Leaving Ibiza for work seemed so trivial when I’d found my soulmate,” Jason says._ _

__“And what was it you do again, Jackson?” Marilyn asks. “Modelling … was it?”_ _

__“An actor, actually.”_ _

__From the corner of his eye, Dick sees an older gentleman roll his eyes, lifting his wine glass to his lips as he does so. The woman asks, “Anything we might have seen you in, darling?”_ _

__Jason’s fingers reach for his glass and Dick knows that even if Jackson was more likely to revel in the attention all rising actors seek, Jason doesn’t look like he will._ _

__“He was a mechanic in Quick and Querulous 9: Quarter-Mile to the Grave and the very sexy hustler who died in the sauna scene in Barton Wolfhouse Presents: Slaughter Mansion 28,” Dick gloats. Rory would be proud of his husband._ _

__A pause. “I don’t believe I’ve seen either of those.”_ _

__“You should.”_ _

__Jason clears his throat. “Each role is a rung on the ladder, and I keep moving upward. Rory has the more interesting job. He does camera work for extreme sports. Snowboarding, iceboarding, skiing, surfing, free climbing, Rory does it all.”_ _

__“Oh yes, darling! Tell us about that!”_ _

__"Oh yes, sure it sounds thrilling,” Dick says. He pitches his voice lower, and plasters Rory’s overly shiny, winning smile on his lips for the punchline. “But you haven’t seen his cock. It's the most dangerous thrill I've ever encountered."_ _

__Everyone titters with laughter. Titillated. Jason blushes._ _

__“And you know, there’s nothing sexier than the realization that we’re meant to be. The soulmarks appeared that first time, and it burned but in that kind of invincible way. Like now that we’ve found each other we could walk through fire.” Dick gloats about their soulmate marks. Scathingly he adds, “You can’t get much more meant for each other than that.”_ _

__It cuts the laughter short. Holly even rears back like she’s been scalded. Dick winks, and tips back his whole martini. The main course can go cold as far as Dick is concerned. He feels raw with all of this talk._ _

__Soulmates shouldn’t be this flashy thing to be shown off. For his parents, it had been an extension of their trust for one another. Dick could remember how his mom would talk about it. That she could breathe in, and feel the same breath in his dad’s chest. She always knew he’d be there, arms ready to catch her._ _

__Dick had always wanted that. Until he grew old enough to realize that it had been a fairytale. The life they lived, everyday was a test of trust, leaping into open air and putting their life in someone else’s hands. It was more tangible than the make-believe of soulbonds. And Dick had told himself that was enough._ _

__Maybe that was all a lie, he thinks. He has to get away from the table._ _

__Grabbing Jason’s hand, Dick shakes his empty glass for everyone to see. “Back to the bar. See you in a few, babes,” he says, and drags Jason away._ _

__They don’t make it to the bar. Jason pulls them from the room, to the shadows of a corridor, and all but shoves him into an alcove._ _

__Jason asks, “Are you trying to embarrass me? Not Jack, but me, Dickie?”_ _

__Dick is so caught up in his own anger that it takes a second for him to catch up._ _

__It would be easier if Jason sounded angry. He looks so gently and honestly, sad and confused. Dick reaches out, touches Jason. Thinks about the bathroom, and the kiss in the limo. And he knows how hot Jason’s mouth is. Jason had made him shiver when he ran his teeth over Dick’s lip. It’s amazing he knows that at all._ _

__Dick hasn’t been this afraid since he was with Kori. When the mark never appeared. Again. And it didn’t matter that she wasn’t human, that he reassured her again and again that he didn’t need one. Because he didn’t – but that didn’t mean the ache wasn’t still there. That it wasn’t another blow to the little boy who had lost his parents and his whole world as he knew it in one decisive blow._ _

__Now, Dick’s is afraid that Jason is going to let him run away, again. That maybe he won’t come looking this time._ _

__Jason wraps his wrist in the circle of his fingers, soothing that fear. He holds on as he leans his cheek into Dick’s touch. And Dick has to release the tension that’s been building in his body. If they’d stopped touching he would have bolted again._ _

__They stare into each other’s eyes and Dick thinks about how he lost Jason once. But Jason came back._ _

__Dick wishes Jason would kiss him. And as if Jason hears the thought, he does. It’s a dry kiss on Dick's cheek, then another. Then he licks his lips and kisses Dick's mouth, and Dick's hands curl into the hard muscles of his shoulders._ _

__Everything feels so slow and deliberate. The weight of Jason’s body pressing into his, the careful flick of Jason’s tongue. The moan winding free of Dick’s throat because he’s wanted a second kiss since the first ended, and he can admit that now that it’s happening._ _

__“Excuse me, sirs,” comes a cool voice from the entrance to the alcove._ _

__Dick leans away from Jason, his back pushing against the wall. It doesn’t put much space between them. Just enough for Dick to see Jason’s chest is heaving._ _

__“Don’t mind us,” Dick says laying the charm on thick. “We’re just headed back to our room.”_ _

__He doesn’t wink like he has so far this weekend. He’s too preoccupied by how, despite his best efforts, Jason’s kisses are still soft. He still so gentle with the way he touches Dick and it make Dick want more. Want him and Jason, not Rory and Jackson._ _

__He wants this to be real. And that’s unnerving._ _

__They don’t touch more than they have to, to get back to their room. Not as they get ready for bed, or as they lay as far to their own sides of the bed as they can. They should be talking about the dinner, or how they’ve made a splash but so far away from that kiss the silence seems impenetrable._ _

__The best Dick can manage is a dry soft call of, “Goodnight, little wing,” into the darkness._ _


	7. Chapter 7

On the morning of day three, the first couples leave the retreat after a sunrise ceremony involving colored smoke and the resort’s fabled breakfast cocktails. They were the budget couples who purchased the packages that started at the five thousand dollar mark. Jason had watched from the shadows of their private garden, and as the strains of farewell strings drifted across the water, his brow had furrowed in consternation. Outside of price gouging bordering on extortion and the possibility of future blackmail material, he still doesn’t see anything at the resort or its clientele that would attract the Court of Owls’ attention.

He's not just basing this opinion on a few half-assed observations. Their midnight search of the onsite retreat records didn’t raise any red flags. Even the notes on the elite retreat members and repeat clients seemed banal, focusing on their peculiarities as guests. The resort staff had already returned as clean from the Bat’s initial research into the resort. The retreat staff had as well, although the mystic did have a record within the police database. In her early days, the mystic had been arrested for public performance without a license and two acts of check fraud. Nothing out of the ordinary, nothing that screamed Talon.

The girl who went missing though, Jason taps his finger against his lips. He admits her story rings wrong. Gabby Carter had been a member of a live band the resort hired to perform during last year’s Soul Jamboree, another exclusive soulmate retreat that resembled Burning Man if it was being presented by Louis Vuitton during Milan Fashion Week. Her band member’s statements noted she had been in a daze during that afternoon’s performance, telling everyone she might have found her soulmate. Their set ended at three that afternoon, and they last saw her in the artist’s tent grabbing water and fruit from the service table. The body was never found. The staff rarely references the mysterious event, believing Carter had eloped with her soulmate. Suspicious, unsolved case, sure. Court related, Jason still isn’t buying it.

But Dick has a hunch.

The last car winds around the bend. Sighing, Jason eases the garden door shut and rubs at his bare chest. The lights are still off in the bedroom. Hopefully, they’ll find something to substantiate Dick’s intuition or set his mind at ease. More at ease, he thinks, a wry grin crossing his features at the spread of Dick’s shoulders peeking from beneath his pillow. At least one of them can sleep.

Jason has had a hard time sleeping. He’d fallen too quickly into the show that was Jackson and Rory; it had only taken twenty-four hours and he’d let his guard down. In Gotham, with masks and all the baggage of a life-not-lived between them it had been easy to stay professional. To pretend that, given the chance, worrying about and taking care of Dick Grayson wasn’t something he wanted.

But here, with Dick in reach? It was too easy to fall into old patterns from before the door to something new had been slammed shut, before Dick donned the cowl. Jason couldn’t stop himself from caring, but he could try to avoid waking up with Dick in his arms. So Jason put up with sleepless, tense nights beside Dick. Wanting more, trying not to. There wasn’t much else to do until this was over.

He hopes the exhaustion doesn’t get to him before then.

His contemplations of returning to his side of the bed are interrupted by a soft knock on the door.

There’s a waiter on the other side, dressed in pinstriped pants and a cap perched at the crown of his head. His name tag says, “Perkins,” and his wide-eyed gaze sweeps over Jason before slapping a bright smile on his face.

“Sorry to disturb you, Mr. Alexander-Hunt, but you’ve a terrace breakfast on the menu today.”

“Yes, of course.” Jason steps back, allowing Perkins to wheel in the silver service tray. It’s polished service gleams from a fresh polish, something that would make any butler proud.

Perkins works quickly and quietly, opening the french doors that open to the private garden and beings setting the table. Soon, fresh coffee and baked goods fills the air. Jason turns towards the bedroom, expecting Dick to come bounding out any moment. A soft gasp sounds behind him, and then, a soft, “Oh.”

Jason turns to find Perkins blushing softly. “Problem there, Perkins?”

“No sir, I’m sorry. I just.” He fumbles a bit with the last of the silver wear, hurriedly placing it on the napkins. “Your soulmark. It’s beautiful, Mr. Alexander-Hunt, if you don’t mind me saying.”

Jason nods in agreement. “I don’t mind. It is.” Tim did a masterful job of inscribing the mark into their skin. Anyone would be excited to bear them.

“Might I ask. Are they—”

“Matching?” Jason interrupts. “Yes. My husband and I are very lucky to have found each other.”

Perkins catches his bottom lip between his teeth and nods. He gathers the tray and begins to wheel himself back towards the door. He hesitates before opening it, and then turns back to Jason. “The soul will always find its match,” he says, eyes shining in awe. “And you and your husband are luckier than most. I would give anything to feel that type of bond. Anything.” He glances at Jason through his lashes, his soft breath drawn through parted lips. There’s no mistaking this invitation. Jason can feel his eyebrows rising to his hairline.

“I’ll be back to collect your dishes. If you need anything else in the meantime, please let me know.”

Jason feels a hand settle on his hip, and Dick worms underneath his arm, neck extending to peer down at the Perkins. And coincidentally, expose the darkening bruise just below his jaw.

“Thank you, Perkins, we will,” says Dick.

Perkins blushes bright pink, but nods, and manages to sweep out the door, only rattling against the frame once in his frenzied leave. Dick laughter ends the second the door closes.

“You can tone it down a bit,” Jason says, nudging Dick towards the patio.

“Not when I have the staff chasing after my husband,” Dick says, airily. He shivers once and then tries to bury himself into Jason’s pecs. “Why is it so cold this morning?”

Jason stiffens, realizing all over again how terribly he failed to live up to the original Robin. He can’t even compartmentalize as well as Dick, who has clearly put aside their kiss. Probably labeled it something stupid like, “momentary relief of extraneous emotional energy,” and filed it away in the large number of things they’d never talk about.

Even after last night, even knowing why he shouldn’t, Jason wraps another arm around him and rests his chin on Dick’s head. “You’re not wearing a shirt. But it feels like you’re trying to wear me. How’s that going for you?”

Dick wiggles in his grasp. “Not quite boyfriend material, but it’ll do with a pinch. Let’s eat before someone else tries to seduce you,” he says, winking slowly then pushes away. He sits at the patio table and begins uncovering the dishes left by the unfortunate Perkins.

* * *

Today’s couple’s activity is tantric soul reading with retreats infamous soul medium, Madam Charlotte Givenchy. It’s easily Jason’s least favorite activity he’s experienced at the resort outpacing couple’s yoga, the mixer, and the soulmate maze. And until this moment, the soulmate maze, where couples were split and told to silently find one another within the intricate hedge mage designed by the devil himself, had been the absolute worst.

Now, he and Dick are sipping a heady cabernet from the west coast and observing the third set of couples that sit across from one another on plush pillows staring into the other’s eyes. Madame Givenchy takes a position on a large, hand carved wooden dais. At this elevation, she can probably see the entire conservatory if she chose. But her dark eyes are fixed only on the couples and their alleged auras.

It’s not that Jason doesn’t believe a person can read auras or connect to whatever magical mysticism that created the strange condition of the soulmark. He’s met plenty of metas who can do far stranger things. He’s still not convinced that this is owl related, but the vast amount of wealth flowing into the resort and the activity Dick’s been monitoring off the coast points to something shady. He’s looking forward to finding evidence and a direction to pursue, an actual problem to confront, because there’s no way in hell he’s going to confront the resurgence of his feelings for Dick or what it is he’s doing.

What they’re doing.

Fuck. He really doesn’t know what they’re doing here. It’s been nearly a year since Dick stared at his outstretched hand and turned away from him. He’d been half expecting the rejection, had plans to come back for a fight. And then Bruce disappeared and the fight turned into something else, another futile desire for something he could never have. Dick had never seemed so far away. He's always off attending other people’s needs. The city. The cowl. His family and friends. But now they’re at this stupid resort.

Dick sways into his side, a soft snort of laughter echoing in his wine glass. He suddenly grasps Jason’s hand, brushes his thumb over the wedding band on his finger, and smiles. It’s a small thing, a staged action for the stray eyes wandering over them, but it causes Jason to freeze for a breathless moment. This isn’t his life and he doesn’t need it to be. What he needs is to stop thinking about it, Dick’s touches, the shape of his lips, the gentle crook they took before pressing against Jason’s in the limo, the feel of Dick’s hands on his shoulders.

Jason shakes his hand free after a moment, earning him a concerned glance. “Do we really have to be here, peaches?”

A couple in the crowd shush him, and he restrains the urge to shush them back. Dick catches his chin bringing Jason’s gaze to him. His fingers stroke along Jason’s jaw soothingly. And somehow, it works. Smoothing away the real frustration beneath the feigned.

“You are being unbearably rude, babe. Just give it a minute. Madame Givenchy is a master of her art and we are lucky to witness it.”

Jason snorts. “I didn’t come here to witness the routine that got her cut from the Jr. Olympics.”

“Jack,” Dick says, swatting his shoulder.

“Look at her! Lackluster then, lackluster now.”

On the small dais, Givenchy twirls a silver ribbon above the heads of a very handsome couple. Dick muffles a laugh into his wine glass. He’s not the only one. It’s gratifying to know a few of the couples find this just as ridiculous. Others, however, don’t, and Jason is shushed again.

“Sometimes you need to accept that something didn’t work in the past and move on,” he mutters. “It’s a life lesson.”

There’s a commotion at the front of the room, pulling Jason out of a sneer off with some hedge fund manager he’s sure. The candles situated around the dais and the couple kneeling at its center have all been blown out. The faint odor of smoke trails through the room Givenchy brings the ribbon down. She staggers forward, an single hand rising to point into the crowd. Once she reaches the edge of the dias, a spotlight falls upon her.

“There is a disturbance,” she intones.

“In the force,” Dick and Jason murmur in unison and then nudge each other with their elbows.

“A resonance of unclean intent that calls to me. Yes. It calls to me. But from where.” Givenchy jerks sending her spidersilk hair across her face. Her body goes rigid, the sweeping search of her hand over the crowd slow and ominous.

“Here it comes,” Jason whispers just as a soft palm touches the back of his neck. He’s pulled down suddenly and his startled squawk is muffled by the soft press of lips against his own. If questioned later, Jason will vehemently deny his mouth parted immediately and he will disavow all knowledge of the shuddery breath he drew when Dick gently coaxed Jason to deepen the kiss. His hands slide down Dick’s waist, the curve of his hip.

“You!”

A bright white heat pulses down on them. They didn’t need the temperature turned up on them by the spotlight or the hundred or so eyes staring at them. Jason’s already hot. He lifts his head. The small crowd has abandoned them, leaving Dick and him alone in the center of the spotlight.

“You are the source of this disturbance that perverts our search for knowledge from divine to profane!”

Jason looks back down at Dick. “I think she’s talking about you, dear,” he says in a voice made to be heard clear to the stage. “I’m just along for the ride.”

He garners a few titters with that one and a huff of annoyance from Givenchy.

“Join me on the stage. You must be cleansed of your disbelief.”

Shrugging, Dick takes Jason’s hands and starts heading towards the dais. They march through the small crowd, whose rumblings are two parts amused and one part annoyed that Jason and Dick have jumped ahead in the line.

Dick waves and blows a few kisses as he climbs the small staircase. He approaches the microphone, catches it in his free hand and adjusts the stand. Then he goes back to the stairs and drags Jason to Givenchy and the spotlight. Her dove-gray eyes are wide with anger as Dick commandeers the microphone once again.

“I’m Rory and this is Jack,” he says, tugging Jason a little closer. “This is our first time in attendance, and we are thrilled to explore the power of the soul.”

Jason shakes his head. “I’m here for the food. Three star restaurant.” He holds his middle, ring, and pinky finger and mouths, “Three stars.”

Dick laughs. “That’s right, babe. We are honored to be selected to come on stage, perverted auras aside.” He turns to the mystic, who fumes quietly beside them. “Madame Givenchy, I must tell you that I am a believer, but Jack here is a perpetual skeptic and a man of poor manners. He doesn’t believe in anything.”

Jason leans over his shoulder and addresses the mic. “That’s not true,” he says. “I believe in you.”

“Babe,” Dick says softly, a twinkle in his eye. He rises to his toes, head tilted, when Madame Givenchy rips the microphone from his hand seemingly upsetting his balance. Seemingly because Dick remains perfectly poised for a split second before stumbling into Jason. Jason wraps a hand around his waist and steps forward, the protective one with anger slanting across his mouth.

Madame Givenchy tilts her head, a condescending acknowledgement before returning to the old razzle dazzle. Her voice rises, casts out like a net over the audience and drags them closer. “It is not uncommon for a love born in balance to display the full dichotomy of souls. The light and the dark. The believer and the skeptic. The wiseman and the fool.” She stresses that word while glaring at Jason.

“We do make quite the team,” Dick says.

Madame Givenchy’s lips purse, before turning back to the stage, arms extending out. “Will you reveal your soul marks for all to see?”

Dick’s shirt cartwheels into the air before Jason can open his mouth. He spins to the crowd, arms spread, and the crowd gasps. He beckons Jason with his hand. “Come on, hot lips. Do it for the ‘gram.”

Groaning, Jason shrugs out of his sweater and then stands beside Dick. He lets Dick pull his arm out so the delicate feathers spreading along their tricep can be seen. There’s more than a few oohs and aahs.

“Oh yes. I see it now. Wings, the symbol of unfettered movement, an unending journey. An adventure from which you will never run. Yes. That is you, Rory. A wild spirit, I can feel it, but not one of routine or migration. No, you are a predator and the world is your prey.”

The crowd murmurs their awe. If they knew Dick Grayson, they call bullshit on that one. Dick migrates frequently, it’s kind of his thing. He either pushes people aside or runs at the drop of the hat. It’s only his strong sense of duty and strong emotional attachment to family, Bruce that keeps him coming back. Not that he likes to admit it, but Jason suffers similarly.

“But you.” He can feel Madame Givenchy’s shadow move across his back. “Jack. Your love is reflected in the purity of the white, your passion and its molten depths the red. This is how your souls speak to one another. Alas, you cannot hear it. But I, Madame Givenchy, will show you the way.”

The crowd bursts into applause.

“I’d rather you direct me off this stage, lady.”

Jason has never actually seen his eyes when the pit reaches through him, filling his vision with a furious green light, but he imagines Madame Givenchy’s narrowed gaze is doing a damn good impression of pitt madness. He can see her patience snap, and with a furious shake of her head, she steps forward separating Jason and Dick’s hands by lifting them with her own. She wiggles between their bodies, sways side to side like a willow tree in the wind. She jolts and collapses forward as if struck by a powerful force. The force rebounds up through her feet, on which she slightly bounces. Her hips sway and her chest expands upward as if a power rises through her.

As Jason observes her rise to her toes, he recognizes her performance skills. The way she uses her body, the elegant shape her fingers tapes as she steps forward, the lazy sway in her hips as she moves to the front of the dais. It’s compelling.

“You must kneel on the silk cushions. They have been hand sewn by blind mystics of the near east. There, your chakras will become centered, and I will continue to read the stories of your soul.” Her arms wave them in a majestic shooing motion.

After exchanging a glance, dark from Jason, vaguely amused from Dick, they take a seat on their respective pillows. The audience closes in towards the stage, a smattering of applause sounding like the decision to participate was anything other than Jason’s choice. He resists the urge to bare his teeth at them.

“With your legs crossed and an elongated spine,” she intones. “The pathways are open between souls entwined.”

“Someone’s been attending couple’s yoga,” Jason snipes, a crooked grin appearing when Dick chokes back laughter. He adjusts his position on the cushion accordingly.

“Eyes closed. Mouths closed,” Givenchy says, and somehow, she manages to both address Jason and infuse the word with the rap of a ruler on a preschool desk. “Ears open to hear the breaths we share. Palms out to touch the invisible ties that bind us together.”

Madame Givenchy’s feet slide over the wood, soft as ash. The sweet smell of teak and jasmine fill the air. The mystic had rellit the candles. The ribbons spins overhead sending a cool downward draft. It zips down Jason’s spine and he shivers and sneezes into his elbow. He blinks quickly, fighting back tears.

“Sorry,” he stage whispers.

Dick smiles serenely. “Salud dinero, babe.”

“The shadows of the past speak to me,” Givenchy wails. “There is a connection between you. A powerful bond you share through the hardships you face and the blood you have bled. But there is more.”

The ribbon moves faster, cutting through the air with a soft whine. Givenchy circles around and between them, announcing her path is one of infinity.

“For souls are bound eternal. Concentrate. Concentrate.” The word crawls over the back of Jason’s neck. “Reach out for one another through the bond. Your bond. But no, you can’t, can you?”

Jason rolls his eyes. He hadn’t even tried.

“There is something blocking you. Something within you resists. Yes. You.” Givenchy pulls Jason’s head back. He stares into her eyes and he can’t move. His fists won’t form, his muscles quiver but refuse to respond. Over Givenchy’s pale shoulder, Dick rises, concern pouring over his features.

“Stop!” Madame Givenchy commands. And Dick does, frozen midstep. It feels as if the entire world has stopped but for Madame Givenchy’s pale eyes opening wider, the thump of Jason’s heart against his ribs as the pale, bony hand comes closer and closer to his skin. Two fingers graze beneath Jason’s collar bone.

“Here,” she says. “I sense the heat of a soulmark. One from the past. It is powerful and it is binding. The source of your partner’s unease rests in this place, a place that cries out for a burgeoning connection that ended before it began. A soulmate lost so long ago.

“But fear not, my unbeliever, my dark heart afraid of light. If you pursue the path of souls, you will find what you seek.” She releases Jason, who slumps forward as if cut loose from wires, and turns back to the crowd. “The path of souls will deliver you to the truth.”

She tumbles artfully to the floor, hair billowing around her in a wintery cape, and the room explodes in excitement..

“Damn it,” someone shouts over the burst of applause. “We were supposed to go next!

* * *

The door slams shut behind Jason. He moves through the room like a caged animal, back and forth along the tightest line, restless, angry, afraid. Dick chooses to approach him rather than let Jason stew.

After a tearful Madame Givenchy begged them to join the midnight Soul Search scheduled two days from now no matter the cost, which Dick soon learned was an additional six thousand, she quickly dried her tears and ended the session. Her excuse had been an extreme depletion of her chakra in pulling the truth from the void, but she moved remarkably well down the stairs and high fived a member of her stage crew before disappearing into a dressing room. Jason had been livid.

He reaches out, surprised when Jason allows the touch, but also greedy enough to press. His hand slides up Jason’s bicep to the curve of his broad shoulder, and he squeezes the muscles their soothingly.

“What happened up there, Jay?”

Jason brow furrows, the angry light in his eyes fading. “I don’t know, but you felt it, didn’t you?”

Dick nods. For a moment his body refused to obey him. He’d been frozen in place. A sickly sensation had crawled over his skin, the touch of magic.

“It might not be the Court, but something is fucking wrong here.”

“You still don’t think this is the Court? Come on, Jay.”

“I just want some tangible evidence. A name, money trail, some masks, feathers, and a statue.”

Dick looks like he wants to roll his eyes, but he settles onto the sette. “Owl masks, giant statues? Those things aren’t going to be out in the open. The court always waits to reveal themselves.”

“That level of villainy is up to its eyeballs in drama, peaches. It’ll all come tumbling out in the end, just you wait.”

“I don’t want to miss something simply because you’re biased.”

“And I don’t want you jumping at shadows because of your biases, alright? Just remember, I’m with you, Dickie, all the way until we get some answers. And then we’re getting a refund.” He offers Dick a crooked grin. “I don’t care if it’s a meta or magic, this place is nothing but a scam.”


	8. Chapter 8

When Dick and Jason first arrived at the resort, they had given a small tour of the grounds leading through the southwest garden and the seaside. Today, as part of their couple’s package, Rory and Jack are touring the north east garden trail with a group of of twelve other couples interested in the inclusive resort activities. He recognizes a few of them, Holly and Marilyn with their partners, and Allie and Bianca, who had a three day budget package. He wonders why they upgraded their stay. They exchanged excited waves after seeing one another down the path, but so far, have yet to connect. Dick can’t say that he minds.

The slow pace through the pavered gardens affords him the opportunity to dial Rory back for a moment. He needs to to recharge the persona.

Despite popular opinion, Dick can’t maintain the persona of raging asshole indefinitely. It’s tiring. This place is tiring. Knowing the Court is nearby is tiring. Jason is. Jason is pulling out his phone and snapping pictures.

“Stand here, peaches. The plaque says this is kerria japonica Pleniflora, and I want a picture of you under it.” His tone is light but his eyes urge Dick to move into position. A quick look at the buttery yellow flowers doesn’t tell Dick anything, but he moves anyway sure Jason will explain this later.

Jason has been motivated since they felt the presence of either magic or meta. They’ve become even more discrete in their search methods and their messages out of the resort. Still, they’ve managed to confirm Givenchy lacks the meta gene. It doesn’t completely rule it out completely tough. Any one of her staff could have assisted.

“Will you tag me in it?”

“That one,” Jason drawls, leaning in close, “Is just for me.” Not to be outdone, Dick slides his finger into Jason’s belt loop and tugs him a little closer.

The other night, Dick dragged him into a kiss in the middle of a crowded room. There’d been a purpose in the move, to draw even more attention to Rory and Jack, to be memorable and cement personas as full of themselves and each other. But there are far fewer eyes on them right now with half the tour group ahead and only a few stragglers approaching them on the path. Jason places a finger beneath Dick’s chin and lifts it slightly. Somehow he’s only a little surprised to see the challenge glittering in Dick’s eyes. He lightly drags his fingernail down Dick’s throat just to see him shiver.

“Get a room, loverboys!”

Allie and Bianca stop at the edge of the pathway, a giggle in their breathless hellos.

Jason gives them a wink. “Just found our garden bower, but sometimes he’s a little too irresistible.”

“Well if it isn’t my two favorite retreaters,” Dick says. He places his hand on Jason’s chest and pushes him away before tangling his fingers into the flimsy material.

“Hi Rory. I’m glad we caught up with you two,” Allie says brightly, while Bianca doesn’t look too convinced.

“I thought you guys mentioned a weekend package. What got you to stay?” It’s either the right thing to say or the right person to ask because Bianca’s face lights up with a grin.

“We won the raffle after our Soul Search! An additional 4 days gratis. There’s no way we could leave,” Bianca exclaims, so different than the wary hesitance of a few days ago. “We were debating adding to our package because Madame Givenchy told us we were perfect candidates for the past life soul readings. We didn’t know all attendees would be entered into the raffle but,” she trails off and Allie picks up easily, saying, “We were among four couples that won.”

“Congratulations,” Jason says. Dick’s hand slides around his waist, a possessive tug of his pocket that tells him Rory’s out to play. It’s echoed in his shark-like grin.

“Jack was selected to have his past lives read,” he says, proudly.

“We heard,” says Allie. She and Bianca exchange a wry glance that dissolves into giggles, the kind that makes Jason fight back a wince.

Dick tilts his head to look up at him. “Did I do the wrong thing dragging you up there, Jack?”

Bianca waves her hand. “Oh no. Quite the opposite. It was the only thing that mattered at breakfast. You’re either tragic lovers and Jack’s latent soulmark is where you stabbed him to ensure no one else could claim his heart.”

“Hey,” Jason protests weakly.

“Or,” Allie contines, “You are seraphim cast down from heaven doomed to never find each other again. Most people are hoping for that one.”

“But we’re here,” Dick says with exasperation. “Clearly we’ve found one another.”

Allie and Bianca shrug in unison, saying, “The truth doesn’t matter as much as a good story.” Allie turns back to Jason. “What do you think?”

“I like to think,” Jason says slowly, “We’re descended from the same beings as Hawkgirl and Hawkman. Those heroes. And the wings represent our heritage and our desire to never be apart.”

Dick’s eyes light up. “Jack Hunt, you fucking romantic. But the past doesn’t matter though. We found each other, so whatever story it turns out to be has a happy ending, right?”

Jason kisses him then, a light brush, because he can’t hold himself back. Not with Dick, not ever, even when he knows that line is for an audience. Their audience. He cuts his eyes to Allie and Bianca, who are staring at one another.

“Newlyweds,” Bianca whispers, a fond look in her eye. She brushes a lock of Allie’s hair behind one ear.

“Must be something in the air, Bi. I’ve found the perfect nook up the path. Let’s go!” Allie tugs Bianca behind her.

“That’s our spot,” Dick calls out half-heartedly, but his grin becomes a little more real as they laugh and run faster. He swings back into Jason and sets them walking again, a contemplative silence around them. It’s just enough time for Jason to pull himself together and tuck Dick beneath his arm.

“You’re thinking pretty loudly, peaches.”

“The raffle seems pretty convenient,” is all Dick says.

Jason nods in agreement. “We should check out those raffles tonight. Maybe skip out on the couple event.”

“Oh no, we’re going to the event tonight, hot lips. Or should I call you hot _hips_.”

And Dick’s a pretty bastard who drives him crazy, but his laughter is nice when it’s pressed into Jason’s chest.

* * *

“Thank you, Zee. I owe you another one,” Dick says before closing the small silver compact. He tosses it back into his travel bag, then hops over the back of the couch.

“That was quick,” Jason murmurs, used to Dick’s chattier conversations with his friends, especially Zatanna and Wally.

“Zee’s never heard of Madame Givenchy, but there are plenty of people who claim to use magic to reach the soul. She’ll keep her ear to the ground though. In the meantime, she should be able to charm a nullifier and get it to us tomorrow evening.”

Dick picks up his tablet again.

“We’re still waiting for Tim’s expanded search for Madame Givenchy, but we can confirm that the resort and its staff are legitimate. Well, as legitimate as possible under the circumstances,” he says. “The resort itself is maintained by a trust. The Souls Forever and Soul Finder retreats are owned by Courting Superior, LLC, which is incorporated in Delaware.”

“Who isn’t?” Jason asks, scrolling through his own plethora of information.

“We’re not.”

Jason shrugs thinking about Batman Inc. and Roy’s heroes for hire gig. “Give it time, babe, give it time. Hey, did you see the revenue stream for the Soul Finder retreats? Why is it so large?”

“The Soul Finder retreats have expanded outside of the Gotham Metropolitan area. Five cities have two day retreats. Atlanta, Houston, Jump City, Miami, and LA,” Dick recites from the list.

After returning to their hotel room, Dick had received a message from Tim. The data mining program he slipped onto the resort network had finished and the collated data was waiting for them to enjoy. The surface level details that Dick is reciting coincides with the information they were able to retrieve before the mission. The additional details is what’s important to him. There are nearly three million files of information on the people who have attended the retreat.

“So they’re trying to expand their data. It seems like a roundabout way to collect information on soulmarks though.”

Dick sends a puzzled look his way, the one that purses his lips into something kissable, and Jason forces his eyes back on the tablet.

“It obvious that the goal is to hook couples up and help them matriculate into the big money maker, this retreat. You heard Holly and her dead-eyed soulmate.”

“His name is Corbin,” Dick says with exaggerated patience.

“Yeah, sure, that guy. They come back every year.”

“Holly and Corbin.”

“Your new best friend and the Corbot.”

“Corbin?”

“Yes, Dick, quit trying to get me to say the dude’s name. I categorically refuse.”

“To say Corbin?”

“Yes. It’s unapologetically bland like summers at Martha’s Vineyard and homemade mayo.” Jason dodges a pillow. “You’re distracting me from my point. I’m mostly serious here. It’s a good point. Why would the Court of Owls want to get into the matchmaking business? What would they gain?”

“That’s more of a question, two questions actually, instead of a point.” Now it’s Dick’s turn to dodge, which he does while batting his lashes at Jason again. “But it’s a good one. How would you answer the question, little wing?”

“Start with the basics. Money and knowledge. They equal power.”

Dick nods. “There’s nothing altruistic about the money they’re gaining. And there’s easier and more lucrative ways for them to collect. I followed the info B collected on their financial networks. It’s extensive. Money is something they don’t need.”

“So knowledge? Why do they want to know about some random shlub’s soulmark?”

“Holly mentioned she found Corbin at the retreat. She found someone with a mark that’s identical? What are the odds? The Soul Finder retreat advertises soul matching on the front of their brochure. No refunds.”

“This is an elaborate plot to create soul matches then? I don’t know, man. There are a lot of unmatched people in the world. These retreats must be tampering with the odds.”

“So, they collect information on soulmarks and bring people together, stream them into the Souls Forever pipeline, also no refunds. Now the Court has a pool of financially influential soulmates to induct into the court?”

“Holly’s soulmark didn’t quite match her husbands, did it?”

Dick shrugs. “You can’t fake a soulmark.”

Jason looks at him.

“Not the connection though,” says Dick. “The studies are there. Even with a complementary mark, the bond is real. You can’t fake that.”

“You sure about that, Dickie?”

It’s entirely possible that Dick is sure, but Jason isn’t. He doesn’t know what a soulbond should feel like, but that hasn’t stopped them from being believable. Under the acting, there’s nothing false in Jason’s growing desire for Dick, in the craving for his touch, his time, and his attention. A part of him had always wanted those things. Even though it felt as if the nail had been put in the coffin on anything happening between him and Dick, the connection had reignited the second he saw Dick twisting in the mirror.

He can remember the feeling of Dick’s lips on his from yesterday. Now, he wants to reach out and have Dick in his arms, lie down and feel Dick beneath him, above him. Surround him.

It’s not quite the transcendent experience the organization is trying to sell soulmate bonds as. But it’s something a couple can take home, and when they fail to nurture it, spend thousands of dollars for the Resort to “rekindle.” People have bought into less spectacular fads.

Dick pauses, a contemplative look in his eye. “Let’s keep tracking this line,” he says quietly. It’s the only thing he says for some time.


	9. Chapter 9

“It starts with the rhythm.”

The drums begin playing a slow Latin groove that has the surrounding attendees bobbing awkwardly whilst trying to find their way to the beat.

“And a little bit of heat.”

Two spotlights swing wildly about the wooden dance floor. They pause at the northern corner just as the drums become louder. A single white dance shoe flicks into the light. The spotlights slowly move upwards highlighting a strong calf and dynamic quads encased in a vivid purple sateen. The dancer begins to move, hips working in a tight circle emphasized by each rap of the snare. As the dancer turns, Dick sees the purple sateen is stitched into a one piece catsuit with a plunging neckline outlined with heavy white trim and gold crystals. The dancer begins to spin, dark hair whipping around before he comes to a halt, flipping the strands over his forehead revealing a winsome face with deep brown eyes, a button nose, and a thin pencil mustache.

The horns blare, covering Jason’s comment, but Dick thinks he hears something like Wing, evil, and disco.

“What was that?” Dick flips a lock of hair behind his ear. “Sorry, the live band is a little loud in here.”

Jason shakes his head. “Nothing.”

“But all you really need is the trust in your partner and your feet,” the dancer continues. “Bienvenidos dancers, my name is Miguel, your instructor for tonight, and I’m here to help you break free of that emotional bunker separating you from your soulmate!”

The auditorium cheers, and Miguel swivels to the opposite side of the floor.

“Do you remember the first time you saw Pacific Rim and the feeling of awe at how effortlessly this film about robots punching monsters conveyed the seamless fluidity that can be found in a soulbond?

“We’ve found a way to bring that to you tonight and every night at Soul on Fire: An Introduction to the Freedom of Dance! It’s time to free your soul everyone.”

Then Miguel performs another hip swivel and smirks. 

Clapping his hands, Miguel starts instructing the couples in the steps of the tango. He breaks both the follower and lead’s steps in a simple eight count and then begins again. Placing a hand over his own sternum, he first demonstrates the following steps. 

“Back, together, cross, and back. It’s easy,” Miguel says. And immediately starts to lose students. They seem stuck on the move from the fifth position, ankles crossing before stepping into sixth. A few couples exchange nervous glances. They’re probably remembering that the brochure had called this a beginning class. Observing the room, and Dick can pick out who is most likely to trip over their own feet, which high-roller is going back to their hotel room with a sprained ankle. 

Dick is cheating. He learned to dance when he was growing up. Some ballet from one of the other Haley’s performers in preparation for his lessons on the high-wire. A little more when he took on Robin. Then there were the gala dances, and the summers in high school when he was the most eligible bachelor for the debutantes of Gotham. 

Tango though, he learned one hot August in Miami with Kori. He feels warm just from the memory. 

Dick squares his shoulders, raising a hand level to where Jason’s shoulder would be under his touch, his free hand he holds to his stomach. 

With his his eyes closed he can better feel the rhythm of the music pounding through the wood floor. He taps the beat of drums out on his stomach as he sways his hips through the steps, adding a flourish as he goes. From far away, he can hear Miguel instructing Jason and the leads through their steps. 

It’s fun in the same way yoga was. Half the reason they’re here is to show off, use physical affection to prove how deep their soulbond goes. But in the physical activities Dick can lose just himself a little. He can let the more performative aspects of Rory’s personality slide off him. Rory can wait until it’s time to make a scene. And Dick can enjoy this as himself for a few minutes. If anyone notices he adds the little hip rolls he’s adding to the forward step, he’ll lie about Rory’s dedication to having a sexy first dance with his husband at their wedding. 

When the music cuts under Miguel’s clap for attention, Dick comes back from nights in Miami when Kori and he would switch off leading. The memory of muscles flexing, grasping around his body. The memory of being lifted and spun in turn feeling so real he’s surprised for a split second to be back in the studio. And to find Miguel is staring at him. 

They make eye contact and Dick feels the same sensation he did with Givenchy. As if he is being assessed outside of the classes skills. If this wasn’t why he and Jason were here, Dick would listen to those alarm bells. Even with unknown motives, the attention is possibly their only way of getting to the bottom of the recent mysteries, and the resort’s connection with the Court. Dick just wishes he could gauge how much trouble could be coming there way while they dangle themselves as bait.

“Partners! Ahora!” Miguel says, projecting over the music. “Time to pilot that mech robot! Show me how you can synchronise your steps, and your hearts through the power of dance!” 

There’s a cheer from the participants, but when the music starts back up, there are a lot of couples gazing at their feet. A few work admirably through the dance. 

“Rory,” Jason says, catching Dick’s attention. He reaches for Dick’s hand. Jack’s more subtle wedding ring stands in contrast to the collection of accessories Dick is wearing. Jason runs his thumb over his first knuckle, just under the garish class ring. His fingers are warm against Dick’s skin as he moves them into position. Jason’s other hand slides slowly, sensually across Dick’s shoulder, rucking the fabric. And Dick is all too aware of the exact angle of their limbs, their points of touch, and their height difference all at once. 

They start moving through the steps, and it’s slow like a box step at first. And though he starts out looking at his feet, Jason is competent. He doesn’t miss a step when Dick improvises a patada, kicking his lead leg around Jason’s before stepping back. 

“Darling, have you been practicing?” Dick asks. From nearby Holly titters at their flirting and then loses her footing. He sounds teasing, but the more confident Jason grows the easier Dick can tell that he’s done this before. What Dick really wants to ask is where Jason learned to dance. 

Jason pulls Dick closer with the next step so they’re flush hip to hip. And cheek to cheek. His fingers drag across Dick’s arm, stretching it out away from their bodies. He trails a hot path across bare skin, and as Dick feels a shiver run through him he regrets wearing his yoga gear to the class. There’s so much of his bare skin on display and where Jason can touch it. 

When his fingers reach Dick’s wrist, Jason pulls Dick’s arm back in and back to Jason’s shoulder. 

“Of course I’ve been practicing, peaches,” Jason says. “Where would I be if I couldn’t keep up?” 

Jason presses his palm flat between Dick’s shoulders, holds his body tight to Jason’s as he picks up the speed of the steps. They glide across the floor, leaving the other couples in the dust. Dick’s hand slips from position to clutch the back of Jason’s shirt as they move in synch, feet brushing as they almost occupy the same space. 

He can hear Miguel talking about soulbonds as he checks in with the other dancers. He proclaims, “Only true soulmates can feel each other’s breathing. Use your bond to feel your partner’s inhale and exhales, and synchronize. Become one in the movement! Let your whole body go to the soulbond. You can truly dance when you trust in the bond!” 

Against his cheek, Dick feels Jason clench his jaw. Jason’s whole body seems to tense, fingers holding tighter, steps performed with more sharpness. And Dick wonders which part Jason is responding too. Unlike Dick, Jason had a soulmark or at least, the beginnings of one before he died. Dick can only wonder what sort of questions that leaves Jason with.

Dick doesn’t buy into the concept of soulbonds they’ve seen sold this weekend. He can’t. It feels like if he believes in something as transcendent as Givenchy had described would lessen the importance of his prior relationships. Dick loved Kori. He would have trusted her with his life. He didn’t need a soulbond to know that. 

And yet. Pressed so close, Dick can smell the aftershave Jason adopted as Jackson. It’s musky scent, and it suits him well. And he can imagine if this were real, and soulbonds were more like those they sell in the movies, that the scent would stay with him even when they were apart. That if they were in Gotham, or Bludhaven, as themselves and this were all real. If Jason really was his. And Dick would always have the sound of Jason’s heart beating as surely as he can feel it now from how closely pressed their bodies are? 

Dick squeezes his eyes closed tight and wills the idea away.

The music changes over to another song, something with a slower pace and a sorrowful brass sound. Jason’s fingers find the curve of Dick’s shoulder blade. His thumb finds Dick’s spin. And as he traces it with the barest touch down to Dick’s lower back, Dick feels a shudder run through him. 

This shouldn’t be more intimate than they’ve already found themselves so far. They’ve made out at times that couldn’t be explained away as being a performance for the case. Yet, it’s feeling Jason turns his cheek, lips brushing so close to Dick’s own as he presses his hand flat to Dick’s lower back. Jason breathes the words to the song, a Spanish ballad Dick thinks, and the intimacy of it is overwhelming enough that nearly costs Dick his footing. 

He catches himself with a cross step. And hooks his leg around Jason’s to hide the misstep. As he’s dragging his foot around Jason’s calf and back into step, Dick looks outside of their bubble. Miguel is walking between the couples, and he stops to correct posture and hand positions. 

Dick shakes himself firmly and puts on a bright grin. 

Slowly, he raises their hands into the air, out and down so his finger slide across the breadth of Jason’s chest. When they return, he takes the lead, spine straight, hands perfectly positioned for a bouncing samba. He steps backwards and Jason trips backward lightly, brows furrowed as they’re suddenly changing styles, positions in the blink of an eye. But Jason goes easily, finding the rhythm, bouncing lightly with the synchapation. His lips move quietly, and Dick fights a smile at catching Jason counting the steps under his breath, a soft “um dois três, um dois três,” as his hips rock a little faster trying to keep up with the count. He doesn’t need to, but that he is tells Dick how hard he’s trying. Dick is leading and and he knows how to move a body that’s broader and taller than his own. Slow and easy, a brush here, a finger trailing up the spine to draw out a shiver, the instinctive urge to move closer. They do, and Jason’s cheeks flush as Dick winds them in a circle, completely in control.

Dick feels Jason’s hand slip lower, from his shoulder to his waist. His hand tracks a hot path across Dick’s lower back toward his far hip. It’s the only warning Dick gets before Jason steps to the side and spins him like a top. 

Stopping is abrupt. Jason catches his waist, and Dick’s feet are slipping out from beneath him, sliding into a dip as he stares up into Jason’s eyes. He wishes he had planned the move. He wishes he could catch his breath. 

“Bravo! Beautiful work!” Miguel is saying from far too close. He starts to clap, drawing the rest of the class into applause as the music cuts out. The world outside of them comes back into focus. 

“That, partners, is the perfect example of what your soulbond can bring. They dance like angels! A perfect unity, trust, a connection that flows through you.” Miguel exclaims. 

Jason wraps his arms around Dick’s waist from behind and begins to sway, a holding pattern while the instructor walks around them.

“The strength of your soulbond can be expressed through dance. I challenge each and every one of you to let go your inhibitions, your fears, your insecurities. Shed the awkwardness. Take a hold of your partners hand and drift, drift away to the rhythm.” He twirls to a stop besides Dick and smiles. “Even you two. However magical your dance is, you hold back. Open yourself to your soulmate, and give in to the power of the soul!”

Miguel’s feet skip across the floor, a quick step that ends in a flourishing clap, “Do that, and show me what you’ve got.” 

Jason offers Dick his hand, again. And the look on his face throws Dick back in time, to a rooftop in Bludhaven. “Take a leap with me, Dickie?” Jason had asked, and Dick hadn’t seen Jason look so nervous. 

Taking Jason’s hand now, as the the bass drum pounds through the floor and everyone waits for them to move, Dick knows it won’t change the past. Walking into Jason’s space, and trusting him to lead won’t unbreak Jason’s heart back then. 

Dick feels the flutter of butterflies in his stomach as he draws his foot in a caress against Jason’s leg. He tips his chin up toward Jason, and they’re so close. This can’t change the past because they’re dancing around each other in a way that is entirely new. 

Jason spins Dick slowly with one hand. Dick hardly needs to spot himself the move is so achingly slow. But he still twists to keep his eyes locked on Jason, always turning back to him. This, Dick thinks, is it’s own chance. New timing and a new leap of faith. 

Each step brings knees and thighs together in dragging tension as Jason leads them through a sharp half circle. This is less tango and more long paths of hands on skin as they improvise kicks, and caresses. Jason cups the back of Dick’s neck and dips him lower and lower toward the dance floor. He’s looking down at Dick and his eyes are so tender, it steals Dick’s breath. For months, Jason has been masks and armor, the glimpses Dick had seen at his feelings, at his depth of caring had been locked up tight after the rejection. But since they’ve arrived, since Dick pushed him in the limo, Jason has been an open beating heart. 

He had warned Dick that he didn’t know what he was asking. Dick doubts Jason had been prepared to find out what he’d be willing to offer. 

When Jason pulls Dick back to his feet, his fingers catch in the back of Dick’s hair for just a second. Then he’s dragging his touch across Dick’s shoulders, his arms, and it’s such a possessive touch, Dick can’t help give as good as he gets. His hands drag down the planes of Jason’s broad chest and across his stomach. He grips Jason’s shirt hard enough that he is stretching it out. 

They remain in each other’s gaze for all of it. Even as Jason brings them back into proper posture and starts them dancing quickly. They cut large paths across the floor, feet sweeping through the steps they almost don’t seem to touch the ground. One of the trumpets starts a swinging solo as Dick and Jason pick up momentum. 

Dick lets go of Jason’s hand, only for a second, as he turns an orbit around Jason’s body. His fingers trail across Jason’s shoulders, tickling the back of his neck, the length of his throat, unable to keep his hands to himself as he spins around and around. And when he’s back in front of Jason, hands pressing to the solid weight of his chest, Dick can see the plan for what’s next in Jason’s eyes. Jason’s knees bend and his biceps flex, telegraphing that he’s ready to lift Dick bodily. He levers Dick up, under the thighs, as Dick throws himself around Jason’s body again, this time aloft and one leg at a time. 

This could just be another fight in a back alley, Dick using Jason’s body as leverage to maximize his spin-kicks. But they’re not there. And Jason’s hands are slipping under his shirt instead of over kevlar and lycra, as Dick’s circuit ends. His fingers are cold on Dick’s exertion heated skin, as Jason lowers Dick so painstakingly slowly that Dick can feel the drag him against his inner thighs as he wraps his legs around Jason to help keep it slow. 

It feels like it takes a lifetime for Dick to be on his feet again. Their hearts are racing and they’re standing so close that they’re heaving chests are having to synchronize breathing for there to be enough room to get air. And Jason’s lips are right there. 

It feels easy to trust Jason to catch his leg, as Dick hooks it around his waist. His hand is right where Dick needs it, fingers digging into his thigh as he hitches Dick’s leg up higher. Jason steps back and Dick is dragged along, his other leg straightening as much as it can in a lunge until it is just sliding across the floor behind him. He remembers to point his toes even though all his attention is on Jason’s gaze staring down as him. 

The music stops, and it’s just the sound of his pulse pounding in his years, the heavy breathing of Jason standing so close. Dick doesn’t wait for the applause to stop, or for Miguel to stop talking and end the class. He gets his feet under him, and grabs Jason by the wrist. They make a run for the gardens.


	10. Chapter 10

At night, the gardens take the shape of something familiar, shadows lengthening and gathering secrets hidden in hidden corners. The silence is broken by quick footsteps on the stone path, a broken moan, the wet, slick whisper of a kiss.

For a split second, Dick is impossibly young, and his first kiss is the things of youth. The scratch of barely there stubble, and teeth on soft lips because this is all so new. The way his heart had raced with excitement back then, in the dark of the Queen family library. The thrill of sharing such a hunger with another person, the fear of getting caught far from his mind. But Dick’s not a boy anymore. This isn’t a teenage dalliance. This is Jason. His hands are warm and heavy against Dick’s hips, lips too careful across his cheek. 

Dick rises up on his toes, hoping to catch Jason’s mouth so he can match the gentle way he’s being kissed. How Jason has treated him from the beginning. There is a hope unfurling in Dick’s chest as slow as sunrise that he’s not too late. 

As careful as the trail of Jason’s lips are, his hands are possessing. There’s a fight being made between their grasping. Dick doesn’t need to direct Jason to pull when Dick pushes him. Dick gasps against Jason’s neck as he’s suddenly lifted and turned to press against the wall, laughing as a spray of blossoms slap against his cheek. Petals fall into Jason’s hair. This moment feels spontaneous, a thing lovers do, but also a long time coming. His chest aches for it, for Jason, and for his selfish, fearful self. His thumbs slide over the high cut of Jason’s cheekbone and he kisses the faint scars there.

“Damn it,” Jason grunts, pulling away. But not before putting Dick down careful, careful. “Dickie, I.” Jason’s voice fades, and Dick leans forward, kisses him better, his desires shaped with the curve of his tongue and the strength of his hands pulling Jason closer to him. Not away but closer.

Because this is Jason. Jason. Jason, lips puffed slightly, the faintest indents pressed against the full bottom lip and the taste of sweat and the sea on his skin. Jason with his eyes half lidded and staring at Dick like he’s found the answer to an impossible question. 

Dick cups Jason’s neck, smiles, and hopes the nervousness in his voice isn’t apparent when he says, “Take a leap with me.”

“You. Fuck. Fuck,” Jason breathes, dazed. “You really don’t know what you’re asking for.”

“I do. I do. And I want this. Not the moment, but you, Ja—” he can’t finished the words because he’s swept away in another kiss, desperate this time, the tenderness unravels slowly, and Dick lets go, soars. He sighs when they part. The air tasting bitter after Jason’s kiss.

“Take me to our room,” Dick whispers. 

Jason’s mouth spreads into a wicked grin. “You sure about that, peaches? I’m human too, and I’ve spent a lot of time thinking about what I wanna do to the infamous,” kiss, “Rory,” kiss, “Alexander-Hunt.” 

“Only Rory Alexander Hunt?” Dick teases back. More seriously he says, “I’m sure.”

“Don’t say I didn’t warn you,” Jason says before getting his hands unders Dick’s thighs. He lifts him like Dick is the spoiled husband he’s been playing, not a mass of muscles built to fight crime. He lifts Dick like it’s nothing to do so, like he could do it forever. Then Jason is spinning towards the stone path leading to the private gardens, carrying him.

After ducking several pergolas and several insistent flowering vines, Dick curls down to whisper in Jason’s ear. “We’ll get there faster if I could walk.”

“Not on your life,” Jason replies. “I’m not gonna let you go, boy wonderful.” Another kiss, another heartfelt sigh, and they turn the corner, Jason eyes on the path. Dick’s are wandering, seeing only the possibilities of this night, this place. How magical it is, giving them the time they needed, and. 

He jerks to attention. Seeing something that runs his warmed blood cold. 

“Hood,” Dick says, the low tone enough to stop Jason in their tracks, and they stand in the shadows of the corner while a slim figure in a hotel uniform slips between the trees, the bronze castings of a Talon mask glinting under the silvered moonlight.

“Well shit,” Jason hisses. He grips Dick’s thighs a little tighter as the night changes to nightmare. 

* * *

The Talon disappears into the garden, and Jason doesn’t put Dick down. Everything is absolutely still, and the Talon gets further and further away. They don’t know if there’s an intended target or if the Court has regular patrols running around the gardens at night. Dick wants to get down. He wants to give chase. He can feel the time to prevent disaster slipping further away from them. 

But Jason doesn’t let him down. He holds Dick in a firm grip, solid and unmoving until a full minute has passed. 

Then he lets Dick down on his own feet. Grabs Dick’s wrist, and starts pulling him in the opposite direction. Keeping them headed to their rooms. 

“Come on,” Jason says. It’s just two words, but everything about him and the way he’s acting is Red Hood, not Jason or Jackson. It’s so surprising that Dick doesn’t fight him. He just follows Jason back to the room. 

There are so many things they need to do. Now that they know it’s the court, training is kicking in and remind Dick that they need to check again for bugs. He needs to dig out his gear and track the Talon down before they murder or kidnap another guest. The name, height, and details in Gabby Carter’s case file run through Dick’s mind like a shopping list. What does this mean for her disappearance? Who is still in the resort that follows her victimology? Now that he has a lead, Dick is trained to work and rework the details. To be moving moving now. 

But Jason has started pacing around their rooms, and Dick needs to be here with him. Even if he’s vibrating with energy and Jason’s shoulders are set with tension. 

“Jay,” Dick says. He watches from the door. “We need to go out there. We need to find out what’s going on.” 

“We need to call for backup,” Jason says. Unbelievably he starts to pack their bags. 

“What?” 

“Call Tim.” Jason says. He’s calm and serious. “You were right, which means if we move fast we can catch them. But we can’t stay here undercover.” 

“What are you talking about? We can’t just leave -”

“I can’t do this.” Jason explodes. It’s a small one, clothes tossed into his suitcase as he turns to Dick. “It won’t end pretty, Dickie if you take me into this fight with you.” 

Jason sits down on the bed suddenly. Collapses as the fight leaves him abruptly. His eyes had widened like he’d stunned himself with his outburst. And Dick doesn’t know how to respond. Now when it looks like Jason is prepared to beat himself up over this. 

“Aren’t you going to say I told you so?” Jason asks. He sounds dejected, and covers his face with his hands. “God, Dick. We need to call for backup. We don’t know what Givenchy was doing at her reading. Or what it all means if —” He stops. His chest expands with the size of his inhalation. And then he looks up again. And Dick can see that fear there. 

“If the Court are here, we are in too deep and I don’t know that I can be objective.” Jason says.

Dick’s heart aches and he realizes this is something so much bigger than he had give it credit for. This isn’t just the garden, or the heat of the dance. It’s not just a game of couple’s chicken that they should've recognized as a spell for disaster before they stepped out of the cave. 

“I’m a liability to you, Dickie. You should have brought Kate with you.” 

Dick kneels between Jason’s knees. If Jason won’t look up, he’ll get into his eyeline. He’ll tip Jason’s chin up and make him meet his gaze. Jason’s mouth is set in a tight press of his lips. And they’re still red from when they were kissing just minutes ago outside. 

“Jason,” Dick says. He brushes Jason’s hair back and cups his whole face in his hands. “Jason, what are you saying? I picked you myself.”

When Dick had called Jason in, Tim had been good enough to stay silent about the choice. They hadn’t talked about the cold shoulder Dick and Jason had given each other once he was under the cowl, if Dick was honest he had been glad Tim hadn’t asked. But Tim is smart. He’d let Dick debate his way down the roster, even though his mask of professionalism had slipped. He’d watched Dick brace himself against the feeling of shame for having run away, and the fear that Jason wouldn’t come when he left the message. 

Dick’s hands are steady now as he runs his thumbs over Jason’s cheeks. Marvels at being able to touch, and stare in Jason’s eyes after everything. He says, “I trust you to have my back in here.” 

Dick says. “I wanted you, Jason. It wasn’t just convenience.”

Afraid he’ll choke on the words, Dick kisses Jason’s forehead, then eyebrow and hopes that the number of kisses he presses to Jason’s skin expresses the depth of his caring. Tugging the corner of Jason’s lips, with his thumb this time, before pressing a kiss there, Dick feels his heart swoop like he’s diving. Without an immediate reaction from Jason, it feels like he’s in the open air. 

Then Jason is grabbing his arms, holding him as he turns and catches Dick’s lips full on. It’s a sharp kiss, more eager and needed than romantic. Hands trail up Dick’s arms, and Jason sucks at his lips, turning the kiss messy. They lose their breath. 

Jason falls back to the pillows from the simple touch. He’s heavy-lidded and breathing heavy, eyes intent on the way Dick slips out of his clothes and crawls onto the bed. The mattress sinks beneath their combined weight. Dick runs his hands over the fingers Jason has clenched into the covers, up the strong arms to his chest. He leans close and his lips brush Jason’s nudging and pressing until they open for him. 

One hand creeping down Jason’s side pushing to feel the stretch of his muscles, the tremble showing that Jason is still holding back.

“Don’t,” Dick whispers, trailing greedy fingers along Jason’s waistband. “Don’t. I want everything, Jay. Please.” A terse nod, and Dick’s slips inside Jason’s briefs, catching Jason’s gasp in his mouth.

Dick works their pants off, too desperate to get them fully naked. Jason’s shirt is rucked up to his shoulders, so Dick can presses kisses down his chest, fingers working on getting Jason’s pants open. Dick sucks and bites dark, possessive along the faint scarring of Jason’s autopsy incision between his pecs, a faint red wrinkle like a stretch mark. It’s near imperceptible, mostly healed by the lazarus pit. It wasn't visible from the stage as it fades and dips where Jason has grown new muscle that he hadn’t had as Robin. Jason squirms under Dick’s teeth; there’s no hiding from Dick what the mark really is. It means something that he leaves five big hickeys along its shape. 

Jason gasps in surprise, and Dick smirks against his skin. And runs his thumb over Jason’s cockhead again, pleased that he so distracted Jason from how he’s undone his trousers, yanked them open enough to get his cock free. 

Sitting up and over Jason, Dick undoes his own pants, yanking the fly down so he can get his hard cock out too. He pulls his shirt off and over his head, tossing it freely away from the bed before he drapes his body over Jason’s again. 

Jason smoothes his big hand down Dick’s back. Their cocks overlap, dark and thick, lean and blushing red, both leaking at the tip. “Happy to be here. Not gonna last.”

“You can come for me, babe. The first one’s free, but I’m making you work for the next one.” He drags his hand up and down their cocks, tight at the top. Loose at the base then th reverse on the way back up. Jason rocks to meet him, mouth parted, teeth grit. He’s fucking throbbing in Dick’s hand. 

“You’re beautiful, little wing. I want you to come,” Dick says, lips catching on the skin of Jason’s collar, near the scar of his undeveloped soulmark. It feels too much for more teasing. He wants Jason to come in his hand, and he wants to watch Jason’s face. How he looks flushed and trying to keep his eyes open. Even though Dick knows seeing it might wreck him. “I can’t believe I made us wait, baby.”

Jason slides his hand down the back of Dick’s jeans, squeezing Dick’s ass hard. Dick shivers, thrusts back into the touch. The grip is possessive, and Jason pulls him up and back with his strength. 

“I’m here,” Jason says, voice soft in its urgency. “We didn’t miss our chance. I promise, Dickie. I’m here with you right now. No place else I’d rather be.”

They move together, one long motion of trained sinew and hardened bodies. A flame ignites between them, spiraling tight and blazing hotter with each slow thrust against one another. Dick couldn’t part now even if they wanted to because whatever strange science that sends worlds colliding, wind, gravity, attraction, it’s there between them right now. The strange power that leads one person to another and cleaves together separate hearts. Dick’s shaking hands wrap around their cocks, the heat searing, They slide together, the weight of their bodies, the soft wet of spit and precome, and Jason’s girth is heavy and overlapping. It’s perfect. Perfect. Dick can’t stop moving, can’t stop fucking down, kissing Jason, dragging them both closer to the edge, until they fall with a shot, hot come spreading over their skin.

Jason’s lips seek Dick’s out. The kiss is that same sort of careful that makes Dick feel cracked open. He presses a shaky hand to Jason’s cheek, and meets Jason kiss for kiss. Hearing Jason’s promise and aching with it. Maybe, Dick thinks as he loses himself in the places where it’s just skin on skin, he can keep this.


	11. Chapter 11

Noon finds them on the seaside terrace with Bianca, Allie, and a never-ending pour of brunch booze. They’d rung Dick and Jason in the morning, inviting them out for brunch. And Jason had been in a mood to agree. He couldn’t find it in himself to be upset, not after waking with Dick in his arms. 

Last night had been an unexpected revelation that was a long time coming. He knew it was going to happen. It had felt inevitable, but it doesn’t hurt the way it might have earlier in the trip. Jason had woken Dick with the lightest touch, brushing the hair out of his eyes and telling him they’ve been invited to breakfast. 

Even though the mood has changed, even though the danger increased, Dick had allowed himself to be rolled onto his back and kissed breathless. It was nothing like their first kiss in the limo or the frenzied passion of the previous night. With the early light drifting through the linen, Jason and Dick had been nothing but a good old fashioned make out session, the slow quiet kind in the early morning when nothing else mattered but the slow glide of mouths and the quiet ache knowing everything you’ve ever needed is in your arms. 

Five minutes became ten, ten became twenty, and that’s when Jason realized Dick Grayson, Mr. Mission himself, wasn’t just indulging Jason. He wanted this himself. Every single one of Dick’s moan, every sigh, every laugh, every pleading whimper panted against his mouth had been an expression of Dick’s desire to be with him. And Jason fulfilled them all. Quite well actually, he thinks, staring at the purpling skin beneath Dick’s jaw. His stare must be highly focused through the large sunglasses he finally managed to wrangle back from Rory’s wardrobe, because Dick drags his fingers along the soft bruise. 

A soft smirk tilts the corner of his mouth, and Jason wants to drag Dick out of this room so he can find out how this smile tastes. 

He turns his head back to the room and watches the other couples and for clues with his eyes hidden behind the dark shades. Dick has his legs in Jason’s lap, and Jason is rubbing Dick’s knee absently while Dick holds court at the table. He’s an indulgent prince, letting the other couples speak and feeding Jason grapes from his plate. 

“They’ve only had one other couple exhibit the same ‘transcendent connection through the soul,’” Allie drops her waving hands.

“Madam Givenchy?” Jason asks, although there’s no question to whom those wild proclamations belong.

Allie smiles. “Got it in one.”

“Surprisingly, you and Rory weren’t the top of the list,” Bianca adds. “That’s reserved for the first couple ever matched through the Soul Finder retreat.”

“Who’s that?”

Bianca and Allie tossing their hair over one shoulder with a laugh of disbelief. “The Weismans,” they say together then Bianca takes over. “They’re the official couple for Souls Forever and travel between the major retreat sites. Can you imagine?”

Rory slides into the conversation with something like a sneer. “It sounds like a good gig if you can get it.”

“Oh no, we couldn’t,” Allie denies it, but her blush says she’s done her own share of daydreaming. 

“It’s not outside the realm of possibility,” says Bianca. “I admit to being skeptical when we first arrived, but look at us. We’ve never been so close. Can’t you feel it?”

Jason pauses before glancing at Dick. “There is something about this place,” he admits.

“It’s the soulbond,” Bianca says, knowingly. 

“And then there’s the feathers we received this morning.”

Jason stiffens as does Dick. “What’s this now?”

“Allie, we’re not supposed to share,” Bianca hisses.

“Rory and Jack are good people. Last night we received a special invitation for a private consultation session to see if we’d be eligible for one-on-one soul coaching.”

“That is definitely not on the brochure,” says Jason, exchanging a glance with Dick.

“It’s exclusive apparently,” says Allie. “To be honest, I don’t think we’re in the correct tax bracket for this thing, but Bi and I have something worth making an exception for.” Their fingers lace together. 

“You’ll have to tell us what the soul coaching entails,” Dick says, seemingly grudgingly. Above the table, Jason tickles his palm lightly. Below the table, he squeezes Dick’s leg and taps out a message that he’ll shadow them for the day.

“Oh, we will. But I expect the two of you will be approached soon enough. You’re the talk of the resort after all.”

Dick grins, all teeth. “We wait with bated breath.”

The food arrives, and the conversation turns to more mundane things. Their time at the resort and the newest gossip about the other members in attendance between bites of food and sips of tart mimosas.

While Dick keeps the conversation moving, Jason puzzles through the information their brunch companions shared. The Talon’s visit might served a true purpose. The court is looking for compatible people with a close mental and metaphysical connection. Neither Dick or himself have determined a purpose, and closing in without one would likely delay the Court’s plan rather than stop it completely. It’d make more sense if the expression of a soul bond existed. 

Sighing, Jason ends the circling thoughts. He didn’t like this place before on principal. Too much wealth, too much suffering, too much vanity and desperation in the eyes of the attendees. Now that there’s a tangible connection to the court of owls, Jason likes it less.

He surfaces to rebuke Dick and then block his attempt to steal a piece of his stuffed french toast with a deft swipe of his fork. “Not on your life peaches. This is the second best thing I’ve tasted all day.”

Dick doesn’t quite manage to stifle his blush.

“Where did you get the nickname, ‘peaches’?” 

And Jason gets to smirk. It’s a little bit of payback for dinner. But it’s not malicious. He lifts the hand resting on Dick’s hip shifting it down to cup the generous swell of his bottom. And then he squeezes gently, twice as if testing for ripeness. 

Their table bursts into laughter.

“Oh my god,” say Allie and Bianca. “Shameless.”

“You think I’m kidding. But there I was at a moonlit pool party in Ibiza. One of those cocktails and music release type things that’s one drink away from skinny dipping when I hear this huge commotion from the pool. There’s this stunning man on the edge of the diving board wearing the most flattering pair of green trunks I’ve ever seen. Thinner than your last excuse to sin. And he looked like an angel up there. The most beautiful thing I’d ever seen. I thought to myself, ‘Wow.’ Just wow, you know? And then he,” Jason points at Dick, “Climbs out of the pool and walks towards me, and then walks past me. Didn’t even notice me. But I turned and saw the prettiest peach bottom walking out of my life and I knew I couldn’t let this pretty thing go without a fight.”

“God stop, it’s embarrassing,” Dick whines. And that’s Rory. The way he tips his chin back to laugh is all Dick. 

So is the way Dick reaches for his hand and runs his fingers in circles around his finger, tracing the place where Jason’s skin touches the wedding band. Jason watches, and for a second loses himself on the fantasy of a morning where this is all them. No fake names, no fake rings. Jason thinks about a Sunday morning, making breakfast for Dick in an apartment they share, and Dick reaching out to run his thumb over Jason’s wedding ring. His heart skips a beat. 

How foolish is he to entertain that kind of life? It isn’t in the cards for someone like him. Not with someone like Dick Grayson. Dick who has left two brides at the altar and took over a year to get them to last night. 

Jason had cracked his own heart open last night to let Dick crawl into it. He’s setting himself up for wanting too much and having to watch Dick runaway again. 

He doesn’t know if he can go another year without Dick’s attention, his affection. He feels like he has a soul with Dick, and he can’t lose that. Not for a dream. He will settle for the little bit of time Dick will give him. 

Until the right person comes, with a soul and a bond to offer Dick. 

Bile rises to Jason’s mouth. Carefully, he presses a closed lip kiss to the back of Dick’s hand. He sets Dick’s hand on the table and excuses himself to go panic in their room.

The people and sounds of the hotel melt away into a perfect silence asy Jason stalks through the hallway. As he travels to the room, he allows anger to outpace his anxiety. Anger is easier to manage than the selfish fear that caught a hold of him. Fear of having what he wanted and watching it walk away for a second time. Fear when Dick didn’t question him, let him walk away again. 

Anger makes his movements sharp and hard. Anger gives him focus. And anger makes one thing perfectly clear: fuck if he isn’t being an idiot right now.

The door rebounds against the wall with a bang, and Jason’s dark stride finally comes to a halt as he steps into the bedroom and sees he’s not alone.

“Perkins,” he says, staring at the young bellhop standing on his bed. “What the fuck are you doing?”

Perkins draws his hand from the chandelier. “Mr. Alexander-Hunt. You’ve returned to your room early.” He climbs off the bed slowly, shoeless feet hitting the thick area rug without a sound. “Is something wrong?”

“Yeah. I just came back to my room and found some staff rummaging around in the light above my bed.” His eyes narrow playing the suspicious playboy with a raised voice and puffed chest. “Do you have a camera in there? Do I need to get the management involved?”

“That would be ill-advised, sir. You’ve been chosen.”

Jason draws himself up when two feathers fall from Perkins’ hand. The door is right behind him, but his gear is on the other side of the room. The deliberate step forward Perkins takes let’s Jason know he’ll need it soon.

“No, I haven’t. I don’t know what all this is about, but I will decline. You should leave now.”

A slow smile whittles across Perkins’s narrow face, sharpening his visage into an unwelcoming look. It’s the cold mask Jason knows from the fighting and dying at the hands of men for whom human life is less important than the plan in motion. “It is an honor, sir, and you will find it more convenient for us both if you follow my instructions.” 

“Your instructions,” Jason repeats, mockingly. He bristles in a way that is all Jackson. Maybe he can bluff his way out of this altercation. He’d rather not fight a Talon hand to hand, all alone in silk loungewear. “Buddy, my husband and I dropped thousands of dollars on this hotel room so we could do whatever the fuck we want. And what I want if for you to get out of my room before I get the manager up here.“

Probably, it was the tone that set Perkins off, Jason thinks watching fury slide over Perkins’s narrow face. The bellboy leaps at him, a low snarl curling his lips. Jason catches rolls with the motion, falling neatly onto his back and kicking his feet up. Perkins goes sailing overhead. The snarl is replaced with a wide-eyed gasp, and Jason smirks as the lithe body crashes into the wall. He’s on his feet instantly, sweeping Perkins into a tight hold. 

“I should’ve gone with my first instinct,” he mutters, dodging the wild swings aimed at his head. “Should’ve just walked us out last fucking night. Should’ve just said no.” 

There’s sputtering, hissing, and then Perkins goes still. Jason waits until he’s sure Perkins is out before releasing him. He follows with a focused punch just to be sure. No response. 

“You wanted to experience me, well. There you go.” He stands and heads to retrieve a zip strip and his phone. He’s going to overrule Dick on this one. They can leave the resort and standby at the standby coordinates until backup returns. Until then, Jason’s getting them out of here before the Talons discover their precious Gray Son is on the premises. 

“Mr. Alexander-Hunt?” The voice came from beside Jason’s ear.

“Fucking Tal,” he manages before the blow lands.


	12. Chapter 12

“You wouldn’t think that an financial analyst and a foreign intelligence agent would find a way to meet let alone fall in love, but there we were,” Allie says. She traces the soul mark on the back of Bianca’s hand.

“And here we are,” Bianca says, voice equally tender.

In all the strange and ridiculous things he’s experienced since arriving at the Mystic Waters Grande Hotel, Dick never would’ve thought it would be Allie and Bianca’s genuine affections that made Rory slip through his grasp. It’s hard to keep the faint sneer in his voice during their conversation; they’re voices are filled with their delight at their retreat experiences and their good fortune. It makes him miss Jason’s presence within the first few seconds of his abrupt departure. Dick brushes the back of his knuckles imagining the kiss pressed there.

Twenty minutes pass, and he realizes Jason’s not coming back.

Dick smiles at the table before pushing his chair back. “Excuse me, ladies, but it’s time I find my husband. If you don’t have dinner plans, I’d love to invite you to our table tonight. Number 6. We’ll add you to our exclusive list.”

After exchanging goodbyes, Dick heads to his room, thoughts split between Jason’s sudden exit and what he’s learned in his absence.

The longer they sat together, the clearer the picture of the Court’s game became; the resort is a dragnet.

It had never made sense to Dick that such an extravagant and out-in-the-open venture as the hotel would be used by the Court. Kidnapping couples for their army of Talons could be achieved more easily, and quietly. But ruling the world from the shadows took more than just assassinating rivals. It took money, power, and information. All of the cameras and the recording equipment, and the ambitious couples eager or desperate enough to subject themselves to private hypnotism. People with too much information and too much to lose if the publicly announced the Court had used their secrets. Everyone paid a price, some like Gabby Carter just paid more dearly. Especially if they ran out of currency.

Her disappearance was likely bigger news than the Court had expected. They’re learning, Dick thinks darkly. And he’s ready to put a stop to their plans before they get to Allie and Bianca.

His thoughts on Jason are more simple, just one repeating refrain of _where is Jason, where is Jason_ , because he should have come back.

Dick thought they were in a better place than the start of the case. None of last night had been Rory and Jack, it hadn’t been fake. When Jason had woken him up with kisses, Dick had thought that he didn’t want this to end. Cradled in Jason’s hands, helplessly smiling into his kiss, Dick had thought it wouldn’t have to. Jason had promised.

Dick opens the door to their room and finds it empty.

That refrain gets louder, and under it Dick remembers the blueprints of the resort. Where would Jason go if he had a hunch? Where would someone hide Jason if they took him? Dick knows he should wait long enough for Jason to come back so he doesn’t expose him.

Dick doesn’t wait. He tries to keep his pace slow as he walks the perimeter of their resorts residential floors, the main floor, and finally out in the garden searching for Jason. Nothing.

Dick goes back to their room. To the empty room he says, “Dammit, Jay. If you went out and found trouble without me—” He sighs. “You’re supposed to be right here with me.”

A rapid knock sounds at the door.

Dick tenses. His eyes dart around the plush living space. He frees a baton he’d hidden under the wooden edge of a chair before heading to the door. He’s greeted by a flushed, narrow face of a bellboy, Perkins if he remembers correctly. In his hand is a small, service platter with a silver cover.

“Hello, Mr. Alexander-Hunt. I have a message for you from the front desk.” He lifts the cover with a gloved hand, revealing neatly folded card stock with the words “Rory Alexander, Room 12,” written in graceful script.

Dick stares at it suspiciously.

“I believe it’s from Jack.” Perkins’ eyes widen, and he blushes fetchingly, then licks his lips. “I’m sorry. I mean, I believe it’s from your husband.”

The insinuation isn’t lost on Dick. Dick collects the paper and makes to shut the door. But Perkins catches the handle right before the door closes.

“Mr. Alexander-Hunt. I’m sorry. I didn’t.”

“Here’s a tip,” Dick says, slipping into Rory so fast and easily, his stomach flips. “Stay away from my husband.” He flicks two twenties into Perkin’s hands then slams the door.

The message is short, saying that Jack has joined the morning tour of the quaint fishing town south of the resort. He should return for a late lunch.

He can’t help thinking about the Talon they’d seen last night in the garden. The sense of foreboding that had settled in his stomach when he saw them sneaking into the hotel. Jason’s not in their room, he’s not there to distract Dick from the knowledge of how much the Court can wreck the lives of anyone they come in contact with.

Even if Jason were pissed off at Dick like he had been before they’d arrived at the resort, he would have checked in by now. Jason knew they shouldn’t take the Court on alone. This is out of character and everything is wrong.

Dick grabs a small satchel of gear from its hiding place, and Jason’s fuck-off shades before heading down to the lobby. It only takes five minutes of alternating the stink eye with flattery before Dick is speeding down the hotel’s private entrance and onto the road in one of the hotel’s client vehicles. The roadster protests the sharp turns Dick makes, but otherwise it handles well. Dick calls Tim.

“Where the hell is Jason?”

* * *

Tim can’t pinpoint Jason’s signal from his epidermal tracker except to say he’s on the resort property. But the prooperty takes up roughly seven acres including much of the coastline and a golf course. The trackers Dick and Jason have for the case are meant to be as discreet as possible, and discretion meant cutting out some of the accuracy. They couldn’t have the security discover the technology and suspect it was anything other than a cell phone’s GPS. The sun has faded behind a dark row of clouds, and a steady drizzle turns the scenery a cold shade of miserable.

Dick looks out across the water, and there’s a flash of light. He can’t know it for sure, but he’d bet that it’s the same light he saw that first night on the beach. He’d thought it was a lighthouse, or maybe another resort across the lake and on the other shore.

Dick asks, “Do you have any records of the cave system in this area?”

“Hold on.” Tim’s shallow breath while he reads. It’s a bad habit, Tim focusing so hard he barely devotes resources to anything else, like eating, sleeping, or breathing.

“What do you have for me, Tim?”

“Nothing too different from the preliminary research. The area was used by smugglers during the revolutionary and civil wars. The hotel was a major spot for bootleggers. The private inlet made for a nice place to avoid coastal patrols, and the caves allowed them to roll barrels up the house without being seen.

“But the new data from the resort has old building plans, including a layout of a basement and cave system. They were drafted in 1891,” Tim adds. “I’m sending you a digital rendering.”

“That’s where they have him. Is the Batboat ready?”

“It’s surfacing as we speak and will be ready when you arrive at the rendezvous point.”

“Beta team?”

“On the way.”

Pressing his foot on the accelerator, Dick turns the roadster in the direction of the shoreline.

“So am I.”


	13. Chapter 13

Jason wakes to the lonesome sound of a seagull racing across churning waves. Seaspray splatters over his face, and his body moves in a rollicking bob that of a small boat on choppy waters. He’s bound and gagged, a ball of cloth jammed behind his teeth with rope tugging at the corner of his mouth. It tastes like the ocean. He listens to the slap of water and the creak of oars before deciding cracking his eye for a look around.

Night has rolled into the beach along with a thin mist covering the water and the large rowboat he’s lashed against. The boat is manned by several hooded figures: two oarsmen at the back to steer, two guards armed with a heavy truncheon, and one lantern bearer. They’re the last in a procession of three boats each with a single lamp to guide the way. 

If his head wasn’t still ringing, Jason would admit this isn’t as bad as it could be. But his head is ringing. Whatever Perkins hit him with hurt. His wrists are also expertly bound and the slapping waves causes the rope to dig into his skin and send a stinging rush of salt across his face. He’s can’t reach the emergency transmitter, but he knows someone is monitoring him. 

Jason sends an angry, one-eyed glare to the sky. Tim better be fucking monitoring him.

One by one, the boats disappear into a maw of the cave. The lanterns die, and the darkness sweeps over them. It takes Jason a few moments to adjust his vision to see the moist cave walls and the other boats with their ghost-like passengers. Ahead, a bright glow bursts through the darkness. A flame ignited. The fire grows in the form of torch light lining the cavern’s edge. The smoke begins to haze the air. 

The rowboat reaches the long, stone dock and bumbles gently against the side. The crewmen move to secure the boat. Four robed men lift him from the boat and carry him to shore. His feet hit the stone and he’s dragged across the rocks. The walls covered with candles and an embedded mural, torch light and occult rings of gold and brass looping the around everything. 

A statue looms above cavern, a stone owl in flight. Jason’s heart stutters while his blood begins to pound. Him and his stupid fucking mouth. Dick and his stupid hunches. A sudden chill expands from his chest outwards freezing him in place.

Dick. If they have Dick. He begins to struggle, heels kicking out to stumble the guards. He manages to find leverage, lashes out with a vicious kick, and receives a blow to his chest that knocks his breath away. The pain is manageable. Jason powers through it and attacks. A body tumbles to the ground. Jason stomps hard, chest, hand, before rolling out of his captor’s hold. 

Crouched low, Jason eyes the wary guards. Only four. A swift kick backwards sends another man staggering. He hooks the ankle and jerks, leaving him with three identifiable threats. He starts edging towards the water, wrists twisting against the ropes. A heavy weight crashes against his shoulder, another to the back of his neck. He drops with a grunt.

A voice rings out halting the violence. “You have a warrior’s spirit. We expect nothing less from you, winged one.”

Jason’s on his side struggling for breath and a clear head, but he spares a second to groan. His head snaps back from a sucker-punch that leaves his head ringing. Stunned, he can barely struggle with the men binding his feet and hands behind his back, immobilizing him.

They drag Jason by the heels this time. His chest and shoulders feel raw when he’s finally dropped at the edge of three large pools of water. He eyes them suspiciously. The first pool bubbles softly, a soft white foam drifting atop the water that inexplicably reminds Jason of the old Wayne Manor jacuzzi. The second is dark and still. The third glows green.

Jason stares hypnotized by the tranquil surface, so deceptively peaceful. His hands flex. He’s got to get free. Nothing good comes from green.

The cave flips suddenly, and Jason is on his knees staring up at a stone dais standing beneath the owl. A small man wearing loafers and an owl mask ascends, while the rest of the ten onlookers wait in silence.

This really is turning into something as bad as it could be.

“Jackson Alexander-Hunt, you have been found worthy in the eyes of the all-seeing mystic. Great power can be found within you, power that will be harnessed to benefit a world in the making. It is the reason why you have been chosen, you and your soulmate. But the road before you is difficult. We must help you unlock the past so you can prepare for the journey of tomorrow.

“Give in to the power of soul!”

The first pool rises up to meet him. The water is hot. It stings and he twists and turns in it. Soon, he’s hoisted out by three great hooks curled around both arms and his thighs.

The hooded men lift him over a second pool.

“Jackson Hunt, your impurities have been burned away. Now we seal the cleansing with the purified waters. Give in to the power of the soul.”

Jason tries not to gasp he’s dropped into icy water. He’s dragged free of the water a second time. His gag has slipped from his mouth. His chattering teeth sound like falling gravel. His body aches from the chill. Slowly, he’s suspended over a third and final pool. It bubbles placidly and glows a sickly green.

“S-stop,” he stutters. “Whatever this is, stop. I’m not here for a f-fucking rotisserie ride through your cultish bath ceremony. Especially since there’s no happy ending involved.”

His comment receives a dismissive hum.

“To know your true self is the happiest ending of all, Mr. Alexander-Hunt. You have been purified. You have been cleansed. Your soul is now free to fly to the past and beyond. We will see if the soul regression reveals the full weight of your soul’s bond. If so, we will harness it and your partner’s bond to its full potential. Give in to the power of the soul!”

With the snap of a finger, Jason drops into the water. It’s green heat washes over him scalding and cool all at once. He struggles, tries to lash out and—

Jason runs his thumbnail against the soft wall inside the booth. The walls of the pizzeria are old and covered in thick white plaster to cover the colored ink scribbled by past patrons. The next generation just rolls in to add their names. 

Dick Grayson drops onto the bench across from him, a tiny smirk on his full lips. “Usually lasts longer if you use a pen.” 

“Eh. I don’t need to make my mark here, when the whole city is screaming my name,” Jason says, and after a narrow look, Dick laughs.

This sound, this smile, this attitude, this person, it’s never going to grow old to Jason. The idea that he’s hanging out with Dick Grayson, ward of billionaire playboy Bruce Wayne and idol of Jason’s heart, Robin the Boy Wonder. He has Nightwing’s attention for the night. There’s nothing better in the world, no one that makes him feel this great. When Dick is around, Jason’s smiles grow easier and his heart beats faster. He wants to impress him more than anyone he’s ever met. It doesn’t even irritate him like it would with anyone else. His body prickles and tightens like a hundred ants decided to crawl along the connective tissue beneath his skin. 

Jason’s scratching at his collarbone when Dick returns to the table, a collection of sauces, powdered cheese, and napkins in hand. 

“Something wrong, Jay?”

“No, why?”

“You’re scratching again. You messing with a wound, buddy? You know what Alfred says about interfering with the healing process.”

“Nah. Just got an itch is all.”

Dick leans over the table. “Let me see.”

Jason tugs down his shirt a little and nearly whimpers when Dick’s hand stretches toward him. A gentle question falls from Dick’s mouth, but Jason doesn’t even hear it, he only nods. Dick’s fingertips stroke over his skin, warm and slow like a sunbeam.

“This patch is a little warm. And I think I see a little something here.” Dick pulls back, a tight smile on his face. “I think your soulmark is coming in.”

“Whoa, wow. Really?” Jason’s heart leaps. He twists his head trying to get a better look. It doesn’t even matter that Dick’s laughing. 

“Yeah. Whatever it is looks like it might spread all the way to your shoulder.”

Jason looks at Dick, cheeks crinkled in the biggest grin. “I can’t wait for it to finish forming. I want to know who my soulmate is,” is what he says, but in his head and in his heart he thinks, I hope it’s you, I hope it’s you, I hope it’s you, Dick.

Dick opens his mouth and says, “Red Hood get up I need you to get up, please!”

A green haze fills Jason’s vision, a dirty hot feeling surrounds his chest tightening with each breath he takes. He blinks rapidly until the world resolves into something he understands. The smeared lights and gray sky of a Gotham City night. His favorite pistol resting in his loose fist. He’s on his back, mask cracked, and Dick’s voice is in his ear urging him to move.

Funny, he thinks rolling to his knees, this seems so familiar. 

“Red Hood, respond.”

“You’ve got to give a man time to recharge, ‘wing. Otherwise.” Jason pauses, wincing at the stinging pain in his back. “Otherwise he’ll embarrass himself.”

Silence, and then, “Report.”

“The gang’s pipeline has been snuffed and the bad guys have been cuffed. I’ll meet you at Nest Charlie for debrief.”

“Snuffed and cuffed, huh? I like it,” Nightwing says, the timber in his voice softening when he says, tentatively. “And you?”

Maybe it’s the knocks he took to the head, but Jason swears he can hear something different in Dick’s voice these days. “Status clear. I’ll see you for the debrief. Red Hood out.”

It feels as if Jason blinks and he’s behind the wall of a storage facility that acts as one of unfortunately alliterative Nightwing’s Nests scattered about the city. The red helmet sits on the small table atop his leather jacket. He’s standing in the center of the small room, top rucked over one shoulder and his body armor open, probing at the bruises on his abdomen. The door opens swiftly, and Jason whirls to find Nightwing frowning down the barrel of his gun. 

“Expecting someone?” he asks, mildly.

Jason holsters his pistol and offers Dick a wry smile. “Sorry. It was that kind of night.”

The slight hum Dick makes turns into a dismayed moan. He moves forward quickly, pulling Jason’s hands free so he can get a better look. But Dick looks with his hands. The tips of his gloves are chilled from the night air as they sweep up to study his chest and sides. He presses down lightly, and Jason muffles a hiss. It hurts, but damn if it doesn’t feel good too. 

“What happened?” Dick demands. “You gave status clear.”

“Not everyone is out there using rubber bullets.”

The words are said in jest, but Dick drops his gaze. Jason slowly enfolds Dick’s wrists with his hands to keep them in place, to keep that thrilling touch against his skin. “Hey. I’m alright,” he says, and Dick flattens his palms to against his chest. He looks up at Jason, a sly grin on his face drowning in a wash of green.

“Don’t tell me you’re worried about little old me, Hood?”

Jason pushes away from the wall where he’s been leaning, catching his breath—drawing air seem so difficult, a drowning weight on his chest—after leading Nightwing on a merry chase away from his case. They guy didn’t even have the grace to look winded, choosing to sit on the edge of the rooftop, feet drumming against the stone. 

“Somebody should,” Jason scoffs. “We’re on the top of a seventy story high rise and you’re hanging on the edge like it doesn’t matter.”

“You know I almost always look before I leap. And I’m pretty good at sticking the landing,” Dick boasts. 

It’s a quiet night in Bludhaven, one of many Jason’s had the pleasure of sharing with Dick. The team ups between Red Hood and Nightwing had become more frequent and depressed much of the mid-level crimes linked between Gotham and the ‘haven. Jason didn’t realize how much he’d been looking forward to these moments until right now when Dick is limed in the neon glow of the casino lights shining down on the strip. 

He’s looking at Dick, looking at the soft shape of his mouth and the way he tilts his head towards Jason, anticipating his movements. He looks at Dick and thinks, I’m going to take this leap.

They can call it an early night, he thinks, extending his hand. He’s going to ask Dick to try, because they’ve been building towards this moment for a while now, patience, time, trust, and attraction. The night is quiet, Dick is so beautiful his chest aches at the sight, and it’s safe to try. Dick will never let him fall. 

“Hey, Dick,” he murmurs, looking into—

The mirror. Jason finds the small black marks notched along the reflective edges. In the year he’s moved into the manor, he’s grown four inches. Only time will tell if it’s helping him counterbalance the childishness that clings to his round cheeks. He’s never looked so much like a kid until now when he’s got a butler plying him with foods he never knew existed. Sighing, Jason swipes his hair back from his forehead. Better, maybe. 

Dick took him out to pizza last month. Tonight they’re going to go to the movies. The outings are better than before, when Dick was hellbent on being a dick to him and to Bruce. Dick says that’s over now, apologized for his behavior even, and said they should get to know each other better. Jason just wants Dick to notice him. He scratches at his collar absently then rises to his toes.

The soulmark. He traces his fingers over it, imagining the flash of warmth that hit him when Dick’s touch traveled the same path. It almost looks like there’s something there just under the skin. He leans closer, nose nearly pressing into the glass, eyes down for a better look. It looks kind of long, oval like, feathered lines like a. Feather?

Jason grins. Wouldn’t that be something. Something for Robin. Something for Nightwing. Another dream come true.

“Hurry up,” he whispers. 

It goes on and on, Jason reliving the smallest, inconsequential moments in his aberrant life until the green waters fills his mouth and his lungs and Dick Grayson fills his most important memories. Until Jason slides into darkness.


	14. Chapter 14

The Batboat III cuts along the coastline leaving smooth wake behind. It’s the third incarnation of the series, smaller with a wider prow that’s capable for transport. On the horizon, the resort stands out like a beacon, but Dick’s eyes are on the cave north of the beach. He eases the throttle and suspends the boat’s running lights.

“I’m approaching the cave. Where is my back up?”

“Batwing and Black Bat are in the air. ETA 20,” Tim says. “The sheriff’s department is on standby.”

“We’re involving the county?”

“It’s in their jurisdiction, and we need someone with the power to arrest. Plus, they love working with me.”

It’s almost enough to make Dick crack a smile beneath the cowl. “Oh really?”

“Yeah. It’s so quiet out here. Coordinating small busts with Red Robin is the most exciting thing they’ll do in six months. And they trust us way more than GPD. Or Bludhaven,” Tim says, as a large shadow settles over the boat.

A glider swoops above him with two figures hanging to the thin metal railing. They’re wearing black body body suits and masks with brass fixtures to shape the visage of an all-seeing owl. Dick begins loosening his harness.

“Hold that thought. Company calling.”

The Talons drop aboard and roll to their feet, immediately defending themselves from swift kicks. The first Talon stumbles after a blow to the chest. The second, a sharp kick to the knee.

“Welcome aboard,” Dick says, dodging a flying knife, then kick.

The Talons move in tandem. They’re well-coordinated, falling back to regroup in unison, attacks staggered to keep Batman off balance. But they feel inexperienced, the moves more rote than ingrained, and they pose no real threat to Dick as they are now.

“I know what you’re thinking, two talons and a bat on a windswept night at sea,” Dick says, reaching for the mooring line. It cracks between the Talon like a whip, whirling to slap the weapons in their hands. He catches an extended leg, loops under a kick, a slash, and draws the improvised lasso tight. “But knot today.”

The Talon goes sailing over the edge. The line pulls tight, dragging the Talon through the water.

The other releases a high, shrill scream—female, Dick thinks launching forward—and draws her knives. She’s angry, and that anger makes for furious and sloppy strikes. These Talon are young, new, and definitely unprepared. The Court hadn’t anticipated interference in their project.

The cape whirls around Dick, and honestly, despite its weight, the functionality of the thing never fails to escape him. It bears the brunt of the Talon’s attack and hides his own movements. Dick ducks, leg sweeping out to hook the Talon’s ankle. He crashes down to one knee. The prow is slick with water, and the boat is moving. He regains footing before the Talon, spinning into a punch that sends the owl mask snapping sideways, revealing an unnaturally pale skin. The syringe slides in cleanly, and the Talon slumps to the ground.

After securing the first Talon, Dick drags the second back onto the boat. They’re shivering and gasping for breath between choking curses.

“You will bring us the Gray Son,” he says, in a familiar voice.

“No. I won’t.” Dick injects the same tranquilizer into his neck and secures him to the deck. The weapons go after a quick and thorough search that also reveals matching soulmarks on the Talon, three triangles on the back of the neck and on the other’s right ankle. He unmasks them next. The one from the water is Perkins, no surprise there. The next face draws him short.

Staring up at him with sightless gray eyes is their missing person, Gabby Carter. They’d found one last way she could remunerate the Court.

“Batman to Red Robin.”

“Go ahead.”

“I have subdued two Talons. They’ll be secured aboard the boat.”

“The new Bat-Patented Tranquilizing Agent?” Red Robin asks, amused if a bit distracted by maneuvering the different bats in the field.

“Working like a charm. I want a team to collect the Talons. One of them is our missing person.”

“Gabby Carter?”

“Yes.” Dick lowers the engine speed further and coasts through the cave entrance. “I’m entering the cave now. Wait for my signal to move in.”

* * *

Dick slips into the darkest parts of the cave. Moisture clings to the walls, dragging on the cape. He’s going to need to compensate for that if the Court has set any more Talons lose in the shadows.

He treads carefully deep into the caverns, but there’s no attack from the darkness. Anxiety has him reaching toward his utility belt, ready to spring forth with last tranquilizer. It’s too quiet, and his fears for Jason are threatening to break to the forefront of his thoughts. So far he’s kept them back by focusing on just getting to him, by thinking like Bruce.

But he isn’t Bruce. And it’s not just Red Hood tied up in these caves.

He’s spent over a week pretending Jason is his soulmate. That’s not an easy feeling to shake; especially not when real emotion was there to begin with.

The dressing of the cave starkly contrasts what Dick remembers of the Court’s Gotham arm. It had been all minimalism and blinding white, tall walls. It had been a maze with every inner structure and sanctum painstakingly planned. Mostly, though, Dick remembers the one dark room. And how the massive screens had loomed above and the figures in Owl masks staring down him, demanding he act as the Gray Son and do their bidding. Or risk Damian’s life.

The cave is as obviously occult as one could make it. Large statues and murals with depictions of pits and soulmates. There is no subtlety here.

Ten robed figures stand around one of three pools, chanting in the familiar cadence that’s become familiar after yoga and breathing for two. There’s no sign of Jason.

Until Jason is lifted from the glowing green waters. He’s held aloft, suspended on large fish hooks, eyes closed and shuddering. Dick’s heart skips a beat.

“Look upon this young man, our new neophyte. He is cleansed and he is purified, and he breaths after being submerged in the water of the past. We send him into the waters a second time, so that he will find his truth.”

Two batarangs spin through the air, and Dick follows swooping down on the men holding Jason aloft. The room erupts in startled shrieks.

The fight is over before it begins. The men and women bear the soft shape of people who’ve lived an indulgent life. Half of them are wearing polo shirts and cushioned flip flops beneath their robes. Something about that sends Dick’s anger spiraling upwards.

“Everyone down,” he barks over the commotion. “On your bellies now!”

Slowly, they comply, shaking on their way down. The speaker from the dais threatens with a lawsuit when bribery didn’t let him escape the cuffs.

Dick doesn’t feel bad about the veneer that fell from his perfect teeth.

Black Bat and Batwing find them after Dick has pulled Jason from the water’s edge. He’s unconscious and unresponsive in Dick’s arms, even as Dick carefully runs his fingers across Jason’s brow.

“We need to evac,” Dick says, his order in stark contrast to the way he is carefully cradling Jason in his arms. “Bat down.”

“Come on, baby,” Dick says. He brushes Jason’s hair back, thumbs away beads of water that try to slip down into Jason’s closed eyes. While Cass and Luke coordinate with Tim on the easiest extraction method. Dick presses his lips to Jason’s forehead, and whispers there for only Jason. “You said you wanted to be here with me, so wake up. Open your eyes for me. Stay with me.”  
  


* * *

The batcave has a particular scent, a dry organic saltiness to it that catches the lungs when you’re not used to it. Jason breathes it in deeply again and again until he’s sure of his location. The cave air and the warm hand in his tells Jason that he’s safe, for now. He opens his eyes.

Faintly, there’s conversation in the main hall. Tim and Luke discussing the right approach to dismantling the Court network surrounding the retreat.

The cave’s medbay is illuminated by a pale corner light and a few machines steadily beeping his vital signs to the world. Dick is washed in that pale light. He looks tired, and Jason wonders how long it’s been, how much time between dreams and the bed. Summoning his strength, Jason squeezes Dick’s hand.

“The prognosis must be really bad,” Jason murmurs. “If you’re in here ‘n not out there.”

Dick jerks beside him, blue eyes startlingly wide, and Jason remembers. The water, the pain of the cold and the deeper pain of falling into memories of before his death. His whole chest aches like it’s been cracked open at the reminder of how hopeful he’d been as Robin. How desperately happy he had been when the soulmark had started to appear. Jason tries pushing up from the bed, a violent jerking motion that causes Dick to reach out and soothe him.

“Jay. You’re awake in the cave after a mission,” Dick says, voice hushed.

Jason nodes mutely, staring at Dick after a hundred different moments from his past threaten at the edge of his vision. And Dick is in every one. The monitor begins beeping.

“Shit.” Dick moves to his feet turning the alert off. He leans over the cot, hovering like he wants to touch, and Jason only has to look at him and the ghost sensation of the water slowly dragging him into a dark embrace, the pain in his chest, the heat spreading through his body is staved off. Until there’s just a heat starting at his collar bone, warming it’s way through his body. It’s feels good, at first. Like the heat of attraction when it sits low in your belly and makes your toes curl. But it warms to a fire. And Jason remembers. He remembers Dick.

“It’s you,” he whispers, haunted by the image of Dick in his life, over and over again. Just this man and no one else. “It’s you. I saw you.”

“Jason,” Dick says, warily.

Jason tries to reach out to him, to touch him. This is real, the cave, the fluids pumping into his veins, when he reaches for Dick he feels the tug of tubes, yes, it’s real. And It’s Dick.

“All I see is you.”

Dick catches the fingers searching over his cheek and bring them to his lips. “Little wing, you’ve got me worried right now. What’s going on?”

“In the cave,” Jason whispers. “The waters. I was supposed to see my soulmate throughout all of time. But all I saw is you.” He’s speaking rapidly but his voice is low because it hurts, this feeling inside him. “I thought it didn’t matter. I died and came back. I couldn’t still have a soul, but I saw _you_ , Dick.”

“Jason, what do you mean? Of course you have a soul,” Dick says. He’s kissing the palm of Jason’s hand.

Jason loves him. It’s a deep, undeniable realization. A factual statement that no amount of self-loathing or self-denying could change. He could run as far and as fast as he could, he could put a whole world or a galaxy between him and Dick. That wouldn’t change it. Because most days Jason thinks he doesn’t have a soul, the emptiness inside him was so deep and cold without a hunger to be filled. He’d died, and crawled out half-alive. For so long there had been nothing. And then there had been righteousness and sorrow. But that, in Jason’s opinion, did not a soul make.

But Dick Grayson thinks he has a soul and that counts for a hell of a lot.

At another time Jason would fight it. He’d say bring up the years of running on death and hate. But he can’t. The heat is burning through him, even as Dick looks down at him, eyes bright and, as Jason draws his thumb across the deep shadows beneath them, tired. And Jason loves him so much. Even more than he thought he could when he’d reached out to Dick on that rooftop, looking at Dick backlit by Bludhaven’s neon and full of hope.

His feelings for Dick can’t be denied, though he’s not sure how to say them. The memories the water gave him refuse to be denied either. He thinks he might burn up from the inside if he doesn’t say something.

Jason takes a slow shaking breath.

“I think you were my soulmate.”

Over Dick’s shoulder Tim and Luke try not to look like they’re listening and Dick is wearing the suit, the Batsuit, bat symbol spread over his chest and he still pressing kisses to Jason’s skin, his wrist, his palm. And Jason is confessing to him.

The moment feels surreal. Yet, Jason doesn’t stop, pushes himself up with a surge of his quickly regaining strength. His heart is steady, his hands warm, and Dick has taken his hand, doesn’t seem ready to let go. And with that simple touch grounding him, Jason feels his heart take flight.

“Dick, you are my soulmate.”

Dick runs his thumb across Jason’s knuckles. He’s smiling when he says, “I’ve been trying to outrun how soulbonds make me feel. All my life, Jason, it’s had me running. I’ve been so afraid that not having a mark meant something but. Sharing a mark with you, even if it was fake? I felt like I was home.”

Dick traces the calluses across Jason’s knuckles and the arch of his palm.

“Tell me what you’re thinking, Dickie,” Jason asks. He covers Dick’s hand, feels the warmth and strength there. There’s none of the fear and stomach acid of their last night at the resort. He knows what he’s offering Dick this time.

“Even if none of the resort was true,” Dick says. “I want to be with you, Jason. I don’t need the universe to tell me that.”

“Fuck,” Jason whispers quietly, disbelieving.

“What?”

“I’m about to kiss you while you’re wearing that fucking suit.”

“You don’t have to.”

“No, but I want to kiss you. Right now. Every part of you, everything you are, I want. I love you, Dickie. I always have and I’ll never stop.”

Dick’s concern has long since melted into a helpless smile. “Jason,” he says. And Jason thinks he knows what Dick will say before he says it. Still, he has to hear it. He touches the corner of Dick’s mouth, pleads with his gaze.

“Jason, I love you too.“ Dick leans forward to catch Jason’s mouth in a staggering kiss.

It’s quiet and sure, sweeter than anything he can remember. And Jason doesn’t care that this is the cave and they have an audience. He’s found something precious, and he’s not letting go. Jason’s treacherous hands spread across Dick’s back, searching for a way through, a way inside. He knows he’s imagining the slow thud against his chest, Dick’s heartbeat, strong and certain for him. When Dick shifts, brushing Jason’s collar with his mouth, he gives a strangled, cursing moan because this is the closest to heaven he's ever been and Jason knows he's done nothing to get there. He's done nothing to deserve this, nothing.

But that doesn’t mean he’s going to stop.

They have to part eventually, for air and other trivial things. Jason runs hands over Dick’s flushed cheeks just to feel the warmth in his smile. Slowly, he becomes aware of the rest of the cave. Tim and Luke have disappeared, likely to give them privacy. More likely escaping to gossip in peace. He pulls Dick in again.

Dick laughs, pushing Jason back a little. “Hold your horses, hot lips. We should get you upstairs where it’s more comfortable.”

“It’s fine. It’s fine, we’re alone and I feel.” He takes a deep, painless breath. “Indescribable.”

“Okay,” Dick says. “Then let’s get you untangled from the medical equipment and into a real bed.” He shots Jason a glance from beneath his lashes. “My bed.”

“Ooh, boy wonder,” says Jason, a hint of wickedness in his eyes. “You’re gonna get exactly what you’re asking for.”

“Finally.”

Dick helps Jason up and they climb the long stairway out of the cave together.


	15. Chapter 15

This moment can’t begin in their old rooms in the mansion. Not because they’re still ignoring the past. But because it’s a fresh if fragile start. It’s too monumental for anything other than neutral ground. They find a room at the far end of the wing, still warmed by the heating. There are dust sheets that need to be pulled off the furniture. One of the large bay windows needs to be opened to air out the room out.

There’s a waiting moment, when Dick is sitting on the windowsill watching Jason fold the sheet and put it neatly aside. Jason’s fingers linger on the cloth, before their eyes finally meet. And then Jason is there, between his legs, hefting him like when they were dancing.

He can’t stop it, can only close his hands around Jason’s broad shoulders and lift himself to reach Jason’s mouth, tilt his head and work deeper, searching for more of that specific taste, the one that rolls over all his defenses and all the walls he built around this need. Kissing Jason sends them all crashing down.

“You’re mine,” Jason rasps then crushes their lips together again. He walks them to the bed. He doesn’t so much lay Dick out against the blankets as Dick clings tightly and brings Jason’s full weight and strength sweeping over his body.

They’re a mess of desperate kisses and hands scrabbling to remove Kevlar and polymar. It gets easier when Dick is out of the suit. Jason’s hand slides down, slowly, with intent. Coming to rest over the heat straining Dick’s briefs.

He breaks the kiss to stare into Dick’s eyes. “We do this and you’re mine, Dickie. I can’t take it if you run away after this. Not again.”

“I won’t,” Dick whispers. “Jason, I’m not backing down from this. And I won’t run from you.”

Dick hums between their kisses, lightening dancing between them, spiraling from each point their body touches. It leaves him heavy eyed and heady, drunk for a second time tonight. The first had been from relief when Jason woke. Now, he’s drunk from soft kisses. He feels like he’s dreaming, like Jason’s hands burn across his skin, pulling the last clothing from his body and touching his soft skin. He’s naked on Jason’s lap. Jason cradles his cock in a warm palm and starts to jerk him slow, and Dick licks at the salty fingers pressed against his lips, and he knows what to do, remembers what how it feels to show off a little, to make the low embers in a man’s eyes burst into flame.

He shivers when Jason’s fingers slide down to run a whisper touch between his thighs. It’s a tease that leaves him panting and arching. A whine catches in his throat, and he arches, hoping for more, more — Breath punches out of him when Jason keeps running his fingers back, behind Dick’s balls, and teases Dick’s perineum from the outside. Jason kisses his neck, under Dick’s ear as he smears two fingers back and forth until Dick’s toes curl and he feels heat coiling tight in his belly.

They kiss and Jason’s fingers trail hot paths over Dick’s sensitive skin. Nails drag behind his knees, and teeth scrape along the lines of his throat. Jason’s heavy hands feel like they’re everywhere and Dick is surrounded by Jason’s heat. Arousal builds in lapping waves, and Dick thinks I’ll come now, I’m going to come now, and pants open against Jason’s skin. But Jason pulls away just before he climaxes, leaving Dick curling and arching desperately.

"I can't." Dick whispers, eyes staring ahead without seeing. He’s curled on his side, thighs squeezed achingly together, and he’s shaking as he drips precome. Jason ruts between his thighs, rocking Dick against the mattress.

The hand around his waist, holding him back to chest, broad, heavy shoulders to narrow sun-kissed ones is the only thing anchoring him. His cock is hard and bobbing between his thighs, slapping up to hit his belly with each rolling thrust. "Fuck, little. Little wing, I can't."

Jason swallows hard. His fingers sweep over Dick’s cheeks, his lips, wiping away tears and leaving salty trails sweat behind. “What is it, baby? What can’t you do?

"Tell me," Jason murmurs, sucking at his jaw. "What can't you do?"

"I can't come, I can’t. Don't let me, please, wanna feel this. Always."

“You will,” Jason promises soft against the shell of his ears. “Always. Whatever you need, however I can.”

Dick moans when Jason’s fingers slip away, giving him just enough time to catch his breath and draw back from the edge. Then his fingers return, slick and warm and pressing against his hole. He sucks on his bottom lip and bears down on the intrusion until it’s comfortable and then, arousing, Jason’s long fingers spreading him wide, fucking him deeply, and frustratingly staying away from where he needs it most.

“Tease,” he whispers, moaning when Jason nips at his jaw, voice deep.

“You can’t come,” Jason chides. “Not yet. Not until I’m inside you.” He doesn’t stop the twist and slide, not when Dick chokes out soft pleas and not when Dick growls and pushes back, taking control of the push and glide into his body. And in the back of his mind, he starts planning for the day when Jason’s flat on his back beneath him again. He won’t be so kind then.

All the visions of Jason pliant and soft, the motion of his hips, the shuddering breaths wetting the pillows, it all stops when Jason’s fingers slide out to replaced with the hard, blunt head of his cock. Dick moans weakly at the slow circling grind against his hole. The not quite there pressure, the tantalizing shove. He’s breached, opened wide for Jason, and then Jason pulls back only to start over all over again. Dick’s groaning and white knuckling the sheets, mumbling, “please, please, please,” when Jason finally slides inside him.

A heat kindled inside him when Jason finds his rhythm, slow to quick, shallow to deep. So deep Dick can feel it everywhere, his gut, his bones. It feels so good, so good, he clenches down refusing to be without that overwhelming fullness.

The pain, the joy, the light there, going on forever and ever, and Dick twists as far around as he can to kiss Jason, sloppy and biting for the way Jason’s thrusts grinds their bones together, but he kisses him. Has to feel it himself.

Fingernails scrape along his ribs, that same spot that Jason reached for time and time again. Like, from the first second in the cave, his fingers were magnetized to that one feather curled across Dick’s side. Dick chokes on the fire burning through him at how much that small touch means to him.

It’s too much. Dick tells himself they’ll have a hundred more times for nights like these, and gives in. He jacks himself off quickly, thrusting forward into his hand as much as he’s thrust back against Jason’s weight slapping the back of his thighs.

“Right now. Jason, right now,” Dick cries, feeling like he’ll spontaneously combust if he doesn’t come. And then he does. Throwing a hand back, Dick seeks out Jason’s thigh and grasps it hard as he pulls Jason’s whole body against him.

“Oh fuck, Dick. Dickie, baby that’s it.” Jason fucks him through the the pleasure, fast heavy thrusts that leave him quaking. Jason pulls away suddenly. The condom slaps to the ground. Jason’s knuckles jerk fast against the swell of Dick’s ass. He feels Jason’s come against his thighs first. Then the press of teeth to his shoulder as Jason cries out against him.

Dick unrolls them, splaying out on his back and tugging Jason toward him, making them into a more comfortable shape for Jason to land. He braces for the when Jason does. Dick spread his legs around Jason’s hips, cradling him between his thighs. His arms are loose around the back of Jason’s neck. And he holds him there, so he can kiss Jason’s forehead, the tip of his nose, the tremble of his lips while Jason comes down. They share deep, shuddering breaths that do nothing but drag Jason deeper inside him, into his lungs, his blood, his heart. His very soul.

* * *

The best thing about the east wing bed chambers are the sound-proof insulation and the massive shower insulations that went in during the manor’s last major renovation. Dick had been fifteen when that happened. The multiple shower heads and pressure filtering had seemed like a godsend after a night of dodging punches and leaping across pavements.

Dick stands under the spray and lets the gentle rain and pulsating waves soothe the pleasant soreness from his body. Nothing can get rid of his smile though. His cheeks practically ache with the fullness of his smile that surfaces whenever Jason crosses his mind. And after everything he’s experienced in the past fifteen hours, Jason pops up a lot.

There’s a knock on the glass shower door, and it startles Dick slightly. And, speak of the devil, Jason is standing there smiling at him.

“I thought you might need someone to watch your back?” Jason says.

“I’m not expecting any combat in the bathroom, but maybe you can wash my back,” Dick says, grinning. He lets his eyes laze down Jason’s body and admires the faint marks and scratches signifying their early morning together. “Get in here, hot lips.”

He sighs when Jason settles directly behind him and wraps an arm around his waist. Soft kisses rain over his shoulders and up his throat Dick wants to sway into them, and does, smiling as Jason kisses his upturned cheek.

“I missed you in bed,” Jason says. “I know it was less than two weeks, but I got so used to your cold feet pressed against my legs I can’t sleep without them.”

Dick laughs at the teasing, dipping his head back to lean it against Jason’s shoulder. He draws Jason’s hand up to his lips and kisses their laced fingers. “I’m glad you finally woke up though,” “I was thinking that I’d like to go ahead and remove our soul marks.”

“So soon?”

“Yeah. They were for Jack and Rory, not us,” Dick says. “I want us to start fresh. Honest.”

Jason tightens his hold slightly before asking, “Will you regret not having a soulmate? I know I shouldn’t ask, but. Dick. I don’t have a soulmark anymore. Death stole that from me. But that’s not the same for you. What if it never comes? Or what if it does?” Jason’s voice drops low on his last question. The last of his fears shining through.

Dick turns in his arms. Holds Jason’s face in his hands. “Jason. I don’t know what the universe has in store for us. But I’ve never been one to wait for it to give me a sign. I love you. We’re taking a chance on each other, not because these wings appeared on us. But because we want to be together. Let’s take this leap.”

“I love you,” Jason says. And if Dick knows nothing else about Jason, he knows that Jason means this.

The solution is waiting in a small waterproof container. Jason takes a moment to read the instructions, and then hops out the shower to grab a rag. He hands it to Dick first and spins around presenting the broad stretch of his back. Even with the water beading along the skin, the wings are beautiful. Dick presses a kiss to Jason’s shoulder before beginning to clean the skin. The soul marks wash away easily, which is somehow surprising to Dick and a little sad, but only a little. He has everything he needs right here and now.

“All done,” he says, rinsing the last of the pale red bubbles from Jason’s back. He trades places with Jason beneath the shower sprays.

If Dick had been cautious in the application of the solution and the removal, Jason is downright slow. Dick has lost count of the amount of kisses placed against his shoulder blades and spine, as if Jason were personally saying goodbye to each feather sketched into the flesh. But he doesn’t lose track of the broad sweep of Jason’s thumb moving along his ib. He’d grown so used to the touch at the retreat, the feel of Jason claiming this one place one Dick’s body as his own.

“Just about there,” Jason says with the swipe of the rag. He drags the rag a little harder along his lower back.

“Hey,” Dick says, twisting when the material scrapes along his rib. “Easy there, Jay. I’d like to have a little skin left after this.”

“I think you have a little more than that,” Jason replies, voice hushed. His fingers tremble along Dick’s skin. “Dickie. You need to see this.”

It's the shock and urgency in Jason's voice that propels Dick out the shower. Dick has to wipe the condensation from the mirror to use it. He stands naked and dripping, arm curled across his chest so he can see his side.

Behind him, Jason turns off the water, and watches.

Across Dick’s ribs is a single feather. It’s mostly red, fading into a rich ombre that ends in a blue so dark, it looks like ink spilled across his skin. The shape and curve is the same as the fake tattoo, as if Jason hadn’t finished washing it off. But the skin there is pink and raw from Jason trying to remove it. It. His soul mark.

Dick twists an arm around to reach it. The soul mark flickers at his touch, a scattering of something beneath his skin that sends heat blooming through him. His soul mark is real. And Dick knows it’s not going anywhere.

“Holy Hollywood,” Dick mutters, shaking his hand out. His fingertips tingle but that doesn’t stop him from touching the ends of the feather again. His lashes flutter at the heat flaring a second time.

He jerks backwards when Jason makes a wounded sound. In the mirror, he sees Jason’s cheeks pale and his hand reach up to his chest.

“Do you feel that?”

Jason swallows, visibly shaken. “I do. Fuck, Dick. I can feel you.”

They both turn expectant eyes towards Jason's bare chest, but when nothing appears, Dick frowns.

"Jay," he starts, but Jason shakes his head, a daze smile at the corner of his lips.

"It doesn't matter. It doesn't matter. I can feel you. You really are my soulmate." Jason's voice is soft, awed.

“Guess this means you’re stuck with me,” Dick whispers.

“Yeah,” Jason says, eyes shining. “No refunds, remember?”

Dick holds out his arms and Jason steps into his space, wraps his arms around him. Dick doesn’t mention the shake in his breath or the way Jason holds onto him so tightly or even the way Jason’s fingers soothe over the new mark again and again like he had the very first time in the Batcave. He presses a kiss to Jason’s bare collarbone and sighs, content in his soulmate’s arms.


	16. Epilogue

**Carson City, Nevada - 6 Weeks Later**

The winter chill has swept in early off the mountains. Rain and snow had swept in blue patterns on the local weather forecast the night before, and sure enough a blanket of snow had been on the sidewalks in the morning. Jason had always thought of Nevada as a desert, but north of Las Vegas, in Carson City, their breaths catch in the cold air. 

Dick and Jason are bundled up against the chill as they walk toward the shop. Dick tucks Jason hand in his coat pocket, holding onto it and running his thumb over Jason’s cold, red knuckles. As much as he had tried to prepare, the only gloves Jason had brought had disappeared between packing and unpacking in their hotel. Dick had said they had time to buy new ones before the appointment. But not so secretly Jason liked having Dick warm his hands. 

Their destination is a tattoo shop just off the main road. Carson City has the makeup of an old western town; wooden porches that wrap around the buildings in place of sidewalks, and iron or wooden signs hanging over the doors. The shop they’re looking for fits right in. ‘The Painted Magician’ has a copper colored sign that also has the year of establishment. Recent, but Dick and Jason knew that. The front windows and the door are frosted, leaving the interiors a mystery.

Before they walk in, Dick stops, holds Jason on the sidewalk, “Are you sure?” Dick asks. And Jason kisses him, kisses his temple and brushes Dick’s hair back. It’s getting a little long now that Dick is growing it out, now that he’s not Batman. 

Despite the connection forged between them, Jason's soulmark never returned. He'd thought about what that meant for a long time that he has a soulmate but not the mark, and if that even mattered to him. 

Jason looks at Dick and he can’t imagine being anyone else’s soulmate. It’s only ever been Dick Grayson, there’s no one else that compares. And he wants the world to know.

This time, Jason is choosing that truth. Not leaving it up to the universe. 

“Yes,” Jason says. “I need to do this. I want to.” 

The shop is warmly lit on the inside. There’s dark washed wood and one wall with a display of the artists’ flash and custom work. Tattoos, tarot, vintage Vegas magic by way of posters from the sixties and seventies. Dick leans up to point out one of the frames, and his lips brush Jason’s jaw, along his skin as he whispers, “I think those are John’s,” in Jason’s ear. He leans into Jason, tucking his head against Jason’s shoulder and they’re like pieces locking together. 

From the back, John Constantine wanders out. He’s rolling up the sleeves of a button down shirt, and he looks tired but good.

“I’m all set if you boys want to come back,” John says. He extends a hand to Jason, introducing himself. “Nice to see you again,” John says to Dick. “I’m glad the weather didn’t put you off.” 

John takes them back. The space is divided into one large work space overlooking a closed in patio and two smaller rooms. The doors are cracked, revealing three neatly organized stations for the artists. John leads them to his station, which sits besides a a long wall accented by pale glass tile. There’s one framed glamour shot of Zatanna on his workbench, hands folded under her chin as she stares out at them. The large black chair set in recline and two matching, black rolling stools on either side. John is already set up with inks, red and black, on a steel tray.

“Zee wanted to be here but she had a matinee of her Vegas show. There was a school field trip thing. Apparently she’s teaching the youth of America about magic.” John smiles, clearly smitten.

“She should be in in time for dinner, though,” John says. “If you are staying? We’d love to have you over.” 

Dick and John make some small talk as he goes to the workbench and pulls out the work for Jason. 

He presents Jason with a simple design, a series of five black birds in various stages of flight, each one about as long as Jason’s thumb. Carefully, he traces the convex arc of their flight, and imagining how they’ll lay across his collar and up to his shoulder. John asks, “Is this what you were thinking? This is as small as I’ll be able to make them. But if you want to change anything?” 

“No,” Jason says. And there’s something significant about the journey he and Dick have been on that he says, “It’s perfect,” and it is. 

“Alright, then let’s get started.” 

Jason takes off his shirt. Over the scar on Jason’s collar, John carefully cleans the skin and applies the stencil of the first bird. He’s careful, covering what remains of Jason’s old soulmate mark first because the rest of the design depends on it. John has him check it in a mirror first, and waits for Jason’s go ahead to lay the rest of the stencil. 

Dick makes eye contact with Jason over John’s shoulder. Goosebumps raise across Jason’s skin. John murmurs an apology, and indicates the space heater he has in the corner. He’s talking about the change in weather being a surprise, but Jason knows it’s not the chill making him shiver. 

John and Dick on the stool either side of Jason, and John gets a new needle ready. His fingers are firm and bracing against Jason’s shoulder. “Let me know if you need to take a break, okay?”

Soft folk music is coming through the shops speakers crystal clear. A woman sings about ghosts and ex lovers as the tattoo gun buzzes. Jason closes his eyes and sees the sweeping shape of wings as they’ll soon look on his skin. He reaches for Dick’s hand.

“Ready?” John asks. 

“All set.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Author Notes are forthcoming, but we want to take the time to thank you, the readers for returning for another journey with us. We appreciate your trust, your imagination, and your love of Dick Grayson and Jason Todd. And your impeccable taste in fics ;)
> 
> Thank you for your comments and kudos. They make us strong and prepare us for the next writing endeavor!


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